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THE   BROOM-SQUIRE 


^^/r  BY 

S:  BARING-GOULD 

AUTHOR  OF  "MEHALAH,"  "COURT  ROYAL,"  "THE  GAVEROCKS,' 
"NOEMI,"  "EVE,"  ETC.,  ETC 


IRew  l^orft  an5  Xon&on 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 
pyB;,lSHER§ 


CopBrtflbtt  1895, 

BY  S.  BARING-GOULD. 

Copfitfgbt,  1896, 

BY  FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY. 


\ 


^ 


\? 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    AT   THE   SIGN    OF   THE    SHIP I 

II.    WANDERING   SOULS 8 

III.    THE    PUNCH-BOWL I4 

IV.    WITHOUT    A    ROOF 22 

V.    MEHETABEL 28 

VL    MEHETABEL    IT   MUST    BE 35 

VII.    FALSE    PERSPECTIVE 4 1 

VIIL    ONLY    A    CHARITY   GIRL 48 

IX.    BIDEABOUT 55 

X.     INTO    THE    NET 63 

XI.    A    SURNAME    AT     LAST 70 

XII.    UNEXPECTED 77 

XIII.  HOME 85 

XIV.  NOT     PARADISE 92 

XV.    IVER 98 

XVI.    AGAIN IVER IO5 

XVII.     DREAMS 112 

XVIII.    REALITIES 1 1 7 

XIX.    BACK    AGAIN 1 24 

XX.    GONE 131 

XXL  thor's  stone 137 

XXIL     IVER  !    COME 144 

XXIII.     A    SHOT 149 

XXIV.    THE    IRONSTONE     HAMMER 1 56 

XXV.  AN    APPARITION 162 

XXVI.  A   SECRET 169 

XXVII.  POISON , , , , . .  1 76 


iir43«>l(>S 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVIII.    A    THREAT 1 82 

XXIX.     A    HERALD    OF   STRIFE 1 89 

XXX.    A    BEQUEST I95 

XXXI.    SURPRISES 202 

XXXII.    ANOTHER    SURPRISE 308 

XXXIII.  MARKHAM 2 1 6 

XXXIV.  THE    PICTURE 222 

XXXV.    THE    ONLY  CHANCE 228 

XXXVI.    THE    SLEEPING    DRAUGHT 235 

XXXVII.     A   MENACED    LIFE 243 

XXXVIIL    SHUT    OUT 229 

XXXIX.     AT   THE    SILK    MILL 256 

XL.     BY   THE    HAMMER    POND 262 

XLI.    WANDERERS 268 

XLII.     THE    CAVE 275 

XLIIL    AT    COLPUS'S 282 

XLIV.    AGAIN-IRONSTONE 288 

XLV.     IN    HOPE 294 

XLVI.     A  TROUBLED    HOPE 3OO 

XLVII.    BEFORE    THE    JUDGE 3O7 

XLVIII.    THE   VERDICT 314 

XLIX.    WELCOME 32  I 

L.    MOVE    ON 327 

LI.    THOr's    STONE    AGAIN 334 

LIL    THE    ROSE-CLOUD 34 1 


THE   BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  SHIP. 

On  a  September  evening,  before  the  setting  of  the 
sun,  a  man  entered  the  tavern  of  the  Ship  in  Thursley, 
with  a  baby  under  his  arm. 

The  tavern  sign,  rudely  painted,  bore,  besides  a 
presentment  of  a  vessel,  the  inscription  on  one  side  of 
the  board : — 

"  Now  before  the  hill  you  climb, 
Come  and  drink  good  ale  and  wine." 

On  the  other  side  of  the  board  the  legend  was  differ- 
ent.    It  ran  thus  : — 

"  Now  the  hill  you're  safely  over, 
Drink,  your  spirits  to  recover." 

The  tavern  stood  on  the  high-road  side  between 
Godalming  and  Portsmouth  ;  that  is  to  say  the  main 
artery  of  communication  between  London  and  Ports- 
mouth. 

After  rising  out  of  the  rich  overshadowed  weald  land, 
the  road  had  crossed  long  sandy  wastes,  where  pop- 
ulation was  sparse,  where  were  no  enclosures,  no  farms, 
only  scattered  Scottish  firs  ;  and  in  front  rose  the  stately 
ridge  of  sandstone  that  culminates  in  Hind  Head  and 
Leith  Hill.  It  was  to  prepare  the  wayfarer  for  a  scram- 
ble to  the  elevation  of  a  little  over  nine  hundred  feet 
that  he  was  invited  to  "  drink  good  ale  and  wine,"  or, 
if  he  were  coming  from  the  opposite  direction  was 
called  upon  to  congratulate  himself  in  a  similar  manner 


2  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

on  having  over-passed  this  ridge.  The  wayfarer  with 
the  baby  under  his  arm  came  from  the  Godalming  side. 
He  looked  up  at  the  sign,  which  appealed  at  once  to 
his  heart,  for  he  was  obviously  a  sailor,  no  less  than 
did  the  invitation  commend  itself  to  his  condition. 

He  entered,  tumbled  the  baby  on  to  the  tavern 
table  that  was  marked  with  wet  rings  from  beer  cans, 
and  upset  a  saucer  containing  fly  poison,  and  said,  with 
a  sigh  of  relief — 

"  There  you  are  !     Blowed  and  all  of  a  lather !  " 
-    He  pulled    out  a  blue  cotton  pocket-handkerchief, 
mopped  his  face  and  shouted,  "  Beer !  " 

"  Well,  I  never !  "  exclaimed  the  landlady.  "  Who- 
ever heered  afore  or  saw  of  a  babby  lugged  about 
wrong  side  uppermost.  What  would  you  say  if  I  was 
to  bring  you  your  tankard  topsy-turvy? 

"  I  wouldn't  pay  for  it,"  said  the  sailor. 

"  'Cos  why  ?  "  asked  the  woman,  planting  herself 
arms  akimbo,  in  front  of  the  wayfarer. 

"  'Cos  it  'ud  capsize  the  ale,"  he  answered. 

"  Very  well,  ain't  babbies  got  no  in'ards  to  capsize  ?  " 
asked  the  landlady,  defiantly.  "And  chucked  in 
among  the  pison  for  killing  them  dratted  flies,  too !  " 

"  Never  mind  about  the  kid,"  said  the  man. 

"  I  do  mind  about  the  child,"  retorted  the  woman  ; 
"  look  at  him  there — the  innocent — all  in  the  nasty 
slops.  What '11  the  mother  say  to  the  mess  and  crum- 
ple you've  made  of  the  clothes?  " 

The  landlady  took  the  infant  from  the  table,  on  one 
arm,  and  proceeded  to  the  bar  to  draw  the  beer. 

Presently  she  returned,  kissing  the  child  and  ad- 
dressing it  in  terms  of  affection.  She  thrust  the  pew- 
ter full  of  foaming  ale  on  the  table  towards  the  custo- 
mer, with  resentfulness  in  her  action. 

"  He's  a  stomachy  (sturdy)  young  chap,"  she  said, 
patting  the  babe  with  the  now  disengaged  hand. 

"  He  ain't  a  he  at  all,"  retorted  the  man.  "  He's  a 
she." 

"  A  girl,  is  it !  "  exclaimed  the  hostess ;  "  and  how 
came  you  by  the  precious  ?  " 


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THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  3 

"Best  rights  of  all,"  answered  the  man;  "'cos  I'm 
the  kid's  father." 

"  Her  mother  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  herself  let- 
ting you  haul  about  the  poor  mite  under  your  arm, 
just  as  though  she  was  pertatoes." 

"  Her  mother  can't  help  it,"  said  the  man.  "  She's 
dead,  and  left  me  wi'  this  here  child  a  month  or  six 
weeks  old,  and  I've  been  sweating  along  the  way  from 
Lun'non,  and  she  yowlin'  enough  to  tear  a  fellow's 
nerves  to  pieces."  This  said  triumphantly  ;  then  in  an 
apologetic  tone,  "  What  does  the  likes  o'  me  know 
about  holdin'  babies  ?  I  were  brought  up  to  seaman- 
ship, and  not  to  nussin'.  I'd  joy  to  see  you,  missus, 
set  to  manage  a  thirty-pounder.  I  warrant  you'd  be 
as  clumsy  wi'  a  gun  as  I  be  wi*  a  kid." 

"  D'r  say,"  responded  the  landlady,  "  and  where  be 
you  a-g*win  to  with  this  here  angel?  Takin'  her  to  sea 
to  make  a  mermaid  of  her  ?  " 

"  No,  I  aren't,"  said  the  mariner.  "  Her  mother's 
dead — in  lodgin's  down  by  the  Katherine  docks,  and 
got  no  relatives  and  no  friends  there.  I'm  off  to  sea 
again  when  I've  dispodged  o'  this  here  incumbrance. 
I'm  takin'  her  down  to  her  mother's  sister — that  way." 
He  indicated  the  down  road  with  his  thumb. 

"  It's  a  wonder  you  ain't  made  a  crook  of  her  back- 
bone, it  is,"  said  the  woman.  "  And  if  you'd  gone  and 
crippled  she  for  life,  what  would  you  think  o*  that  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  carry  her  like  that  all  the  road,"  answered 
the  sailor.     "  Part  ways  I  slung  her  over  my  back." 

"  Wonder  she's  alive.  Owdatious  strong  she  must 
be.  Come  in,  my  cherry  beam.  I'll  give  you  as  good 
as  mother's  milk.  Three  parts  water  and  a  bit  o' 
shuggar.  Little  your  father  thinks  o'  your  wants  so 
long  as  he  gets  his  ale." 

"  I  let  her  suck  my  thumb,"  said  the  sailor,  timidly. 

"  Much  good  she  got  out  o'  that,"  retorted  the  land- 
lady.    "Yes,  yes,  my  syrup.     I'll  give  you  something." 

"  If  you  can  stop  her  yowling,  I'll  thank  you." 

With  a  contemptuous  look  at  the  father,  the  hostess 
withdrew. 


4  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

Then  the  sailor  planted  his  elbows  on  the  table, 
drank  a  long  draught  of  beer,  and  said,  sententiously, 
"  It's  an  institootion  is  wimin." 

"  Woman  is  the  joy  of  our  lives,"  said  a  lanky,  dark- 
haired  man  at  the  table. 

" 'Tain't  exactly  that,"  answered  the  sailor,  now  first 
observing  that  there  were  other  men  in  the  room.  "  *Tis 
that  there's  things  for  everything — there's  the  capstan 
for  hawlin'  up  the  anchor,  and  there's  the  woman  for 
nussin*.  They  was  ordained  to  it — not  men — never, 
no — not  men.  Look  at  my  hand."  The  sailor  ex- 
tended his  arm  across  the  table.  "  It's  shakin'  like  a 
guitar-string  when  a  nigger's  playing — and  all  along  of 
that  kid's  yawls.     Wimin  Hkes  it." 

"  It's  their  moosic,"  said  the  lanky  man. 

Then  in  rushed  the  landlady  with  flashing  eyes,  and 
holding  out  both  palms  before  her  said,  *'  The  child's 
mouth  be  that  purple  or  blue — it's  fits." 

"  It's  blackberries,"  answered  the  seaman.  "  They 
was  nice  and  ripe,  and  plenty  of  them." 

"  Blackberries  !  "  almost  shrieked  the  hostess,  '*  and 
the  child  not  six  weeks  old  !  You've  killed  her!  It's 
upset  her  blessed  little  inside." 

"  I  thought  I'd  done  wrong,"  said  the  sailor,  timidly, 
"that's  why  I  was  a-carryin'  of  her  topsy-turvy.  I 
thought  to  ha'  shooked  the  blackberries  out  again." 

"  If  that  child  dies,"  exclaimed  the  landlady,  solemnly, 
"  then  where  will  you  go  to,  you  unnat'ral  parient?" 

"  I  did  it  wi'  the  best  intention,"  apologized  the 
man. 

"  That's  what  Betsy  Chaffers  said  when  she  gave 
wrong  change.  Oh  that  heaven  should  ever  a  created 
man.     They's  terrible  monsters." 

She  disappeared  again  after  the  child. 

The  sailor  drank  more  beer,  sighed,  wiped  his  brow, 
then  his  upper  lip,  and  looked  appealingly  about  him 
at  the  men  who  were  present.  Of  these  there  were 
four  and  a  half.  That  is  to  say,  four  men  and  a  boy. 
Three  of  the  men  were  at  the  table,  and  of  these  the 
lanky  sallow  man  was  one. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  5 

These  three  men  were  strange,  unpleasant-looking 
fellows,  dressed  up  in  scraps  of  incongruous  clothing, 
semi-nautical,  semi-agricultural.  One  was  completely 
enveloped  in  a  great-coat  that  had  belonged  to  a  very- 
tall  and  stout  man,  and  he  was  short  and  thin.  An- 
other was  incompletely  dressed,  for  what  garments  he 
had  on  were  in  rags  that  afforded  glimpses  between 
them  of  tattered  lining,  of  flesh,  but  of  no  shirt. 

The  third  man  had  the  unmistakable  lower  jaw  and 
mouth  of  an  Irishman. 

By  the  fire  sat  an  individual  of  a  different  type.  He 
was  a  young  man  with  heavy  brows  and  a  large  mouth 
devoid  of  lips,  set  tight  as  a  snapped  man-trap.  He 
had  keen,  restless,  watchful  eyes.  His  hair  was  sandy, 
thrust  forward  over  his  brow,  and  hanging  low  behind. 
On  the  opposite  side  of  the  hearth  crouched  a  boy,  a 
timid,  delicately  formed  lad  with  a  large  head  and  full 
lustrous  eyes. 

"  Come  from  far  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  ragamuffins  at 
the  table. 

"  Didn't  yur  hear  me  say  from  Lun'non  town  ? " 
answered  the  sailor.  *^  Lagged  that  there  dratted  baby 
the  whole  way.     FU  have  another  glass  of  beer." 

"  And  what  distance  are  you  going  ? "  asked  the 
lanky  man. 

**  I  shall  put  into  the  next  port  for  the  night,  and  to- 
morrow on  to  Portsmouth,  and  stow  away  the  kid  with 
my  wife's  sister.  Lord  !  I  wishes  the  morrer  were  well 
over." 

"  We're  bound  for  Portsmouth,"  said  the  man  in 
tatters.  "  What  say  you  ?  shall  we  keep  company  and 
relieve  you  of  the  kid  ?  If  you'll  pay  the  shot  here 
and  at  the  other  end,  and  at  the  other  pubs — can't  say 
but  what  we'll  ease  you." 

"  It's  a  bargain,"  exclaimed  the  sailor.  "  By  George  ! 
I've  had  enough  of  it  from  Lun'non  here.  As  to 
money,  look  here,"  he  put  his  hand  into  his  trousers 
pocket  and  pulled  out  a  handful  of  coins,  gold,  silver 
and  copper  together.  "  There  is  brass  for  all.  Just 
home,   paid   off — and   find   my   wife    dead — and    me 


6  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

saddled  with  the  yowling  kid.  Tm  off  to  sea  again. 
Don't  see  no  sport  wider-erring  here  all  bebothered 
with  a  baby." 

'*  We  are  very  willing  to  accompany  you,"  said  the 
tattered  man,  and  turning  to  the  fellow  with  sallow 
face  and  lantern  jaws,  he  said,  "  What's  your  opinion, 
Lonegon  ?  " 

"  I'm  willing,  Marshall ;  what  say  you,  Michael 
Casey?" 

**  Begorra — I'm  the  man  to  be  a  wet  nuss." 

The  sailor  called  for  spirits  wherewith  to  treat  the 
men  who  had  offered  their  assistance. 

"  This  is  a  mighty  relief  to  me,"  said  he.  "  I  don't 
think  I  could  ha'  got  on  by  myself." 

"  You've  no  expayrience,  sir,"  said  Casey.  **  It's 
I'm  the  boy  for  the  babbies.  Ye  must  rig  up  a  bottle 
and  fill  it  with  milk,  and  just  a  whisk  of  a  drop  of  the 
craytur  to  prevent  it  curdling,  and  then  stuff  the  mouth 
with  a  rag — and  the  darlin'll  suck,  and  suck,  and  be 
still  as  the  evenin*  star  as  I  sees  yonder  glimmering  at 
the  window." 

**  You'll  have  to  start  pretty  sharp  if  you  want  to 
get  on  a  stage  before  dark,"  said  the  man  by  the  fire. 

"  It's  a  lone  road,"  threw  in  the  boy  shyly. 

"  What's  the  odds  when  we  are  four  of  us  ?  "  asked 
the  man  whose  name  was  Lonegon. 

"And  all  of  us  pertecting  the  little  cherub  from 
ketching  cold,"  threw  in  Casey. 

'*  We  ain't  afraid — not  we,"  said  the  ragged  man. 

"  Not  of  bogies,  at  any  rate." 

"  Oh,  you  need  not  fear  bogies,"  observed  the  man 
at  the  fire,  dryly. 

"  What  is  it,  then?  "  asked  Michael  Casey.  "Sure 
it's  not  highwaymen  ?  " 

The  man  by  the  fire  warmed  his  palms,  laughed,  and 
said :  "  It  would  take  two  to  rob  you,  I  guess,  one  to 
put  the  money  into  your  pocket  and  the  second  to 
take  it  out." 

"  You're  right  there,"  answered  the  Irishman,  laugh- 
ing.    "  It's  my  pockets  be  that  worn  to  holes  wi'  the 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  7 

guineas  that  have  been  in  them,  that  now  they  let  'em 
fall  through." 

The  man  by  the  fire  rubbed  his  palms  together  and 
made  a  remark  in  a  low  tone — addressed  to  the  boy. 
Lonegon  turned  sharply  round  on  his  seat  and  cried 
threateningly  ,  "  What's  that  you're  "hinting  agin  us  ? 
Say  it  again,  and  say  it  aloud,  and  I'll  knock  your  silly, 
imperdent  head  off." 

"  I  say  it  again,"  said  the  young  man,  turning  his 
cunning  head  round,  like  a  jackdaw.  "  I  say  that  if  I 
were  going  over  Hind  Head  and  by  the  Punch  Bowl 
at  night  with  as  much  money  in  my  pocket  as  has  that 
seaman  there — I'd  choose  my  companions  better.  You 
haven't  heard  what  I  said  ?  I'd  choose  my  companions 
better." 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  II. 

WANDERING   SOULS. 

The  long,  lean  fellow,  Lonegon,  leaped  to  his  feet, 
and  struck  at  the  man  by  the  fire. 

The  latter  was  prepared  for  him.  He  had  snatched 
a  brand  from  the  hearth,  and  without  losing  the 
sarcastic  laugh  on  his  great  mouth,  presented  it  sharply 
in  the  way  of  the  descending  fist,  so  as  to  catch  Lone- 
gon's  wrist. 

The  sparks  flew  about  at  the  clash,  and  the  man  who 
had  received  the  blow  uttered  a  howl  of  pain,  for  his 
wrist  was  torn  by  the  firwood,  and  his  hand  burnt  by 
the  fire. 

With  an  imprecation  and  a  vow  to  "  do  for  "  "  eyes, 
liver,  and  lights'*  of  the  " clodhopper,"  he  rushed  at 
him  blindly.  With  a  mocking  laugh,  the  man  assailed 
thrust  forth  a  leg,  and  Lonegon,  stumbling  across  it, 
measured  his  length  on  the  floor. 

The  man  called  Marshall  now  interfered  by  snatching 
the  pewter  tankard  from  the  sailor,  and  aiming  it  at 
the  head  of  him  wl^o  had  overthrown  his  mate. 

At  the  same  time  the  boy,  terrified,  began  to  scream. 
**  Mother !  mother  !  help  !  pray  !  they'll  murder  Bide- 
about." 

The  hostess  speedily  appeared,  set  her  arms  akimbo, 
planted  her  feet  resolutely  on  the  floor,  and  said,  in 
commanding  tones — 

"  Now  then  !  No  fighting  on  the  premises.  Stand 
up,  you  rascal.  What  have  you  done  with  the  pewter? 
Ah,  crushed  out  of  all  shape  and  use.  That's  what 
Molly  Luff  sed  of  her  new  bonnet  when  she  sat  down 
on  it— Lawk,  a  biddy  !     Who'd  ha'  thought  it  ?  " 

Lonegon  staggered  to  his  feet,  and  burst  into  a  torrent 
of  recrimination  against  the  man  whom  the  boy  had 
called  Bideabout. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  9 

"  I  don't  care  where  the  rights  are,  or  where  be  the 
wrongs.  An  addled  egg  be  nasty  eating  whether  you 
tackle  it  one  end  or  'tother.  All  I  sez  is — I  won't  have 
it.  But  what  I  will  have  is — I'll  be  paid  for  that  there 
tankard.     Who  threw  it  ?  " 

"  It  was  he — yonder,  in  tatters,"  said  the  boy. 

"  You  won't  get  money  out  o*  me,"  said  Marshall ; 
"  my  pockets — you  may  turn  'em  out  and  see  for  your- 
self— are  rich  in  nothing  but  holes,  and  there's  in  them 
just  about  as  many  of  they  as  there  are  in  the  rose  o*  a 
watering  can." 

"  I  shall  be  paid,"  asserted  the  hostess.  "  You  three 
are  mates,  and  there'll  be  money  enough  among  you." 

"  Look  here,  mistress,"  put  in  the  sailor,  "  I'll  stand 
the  damage,  only  don't  let  us  have  a  row.  Bring  me 
another  can  of  ale,  and  tell  me  what  it  all  comes  to. 
Then  we'll  be  on  the  move." 

"  The  other  fellows  may  clear  off,  and  the  sooner 
the  better,"  said  the  landlady.  *'  But  not  you  just  now, 
and  the  baby  has  dropped  into  the  sweetest  of  sleeps. 
'Twere  a  sin  to  wake  her." 

"  I'm  going  on  to  the  Huts,"  said  the  seaman. 

"  And  we're  going  with  him  as  a  guard  to  the  baby," 
said  the  Irish  fellow. 

"  A  blackguard  set,"  threw  in  Bideabout. 

**  What  about  the  color  so  long  as  it  is  effective  ?  " 
asked  Casey. 

By  degrees  the  anger  of  Lonegon  was  allayed,  and 
he  seated  himself  growling  at  the  table,  and  wiped  the 
blood  from  his  torn  wrist  on  his  sleeve,  and  drawing 
forth  a  dirty  and  tattered  red  kerchief,  bound  it  round 
the  bruised  and  wounded  joint.  The  man,  Bideabout, 
did  not  concern  himself  with  the  wrath  or  the  anguish 
of  the  man.  He  rubbed  his  hands  together,  and 
clapped  a  palm  on  each  knee,  and  looked  into  the 
fire  with  a  smirk  on  his  face,  but  with  an  eye  on  the 
alert  lest  his  adversary  should  attempt  to  steal  an 
advantage  on  him. 

Nor  was  he  unjustified  in  being  on  his  guard,  judging 
by  the  malignant  glances  cast  at  him  by  Lonegon, 


10  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

"  Whom  may  you  be  ?  "  asked  the  tattered  man. 

"  Fm  Jonas  Kink,"  answered  the  young  fellow  at  the 
fire. 

"  He's  Bideabout,  the  Broom-Squire,"  explained  the 
landlady.  Then  with  a  glimmering  of  a  notion  that 
this  variation  in  names  might  prove  confusing,  she 
added,  "  leastways  that's  what  we  calls  him.  We  don't 
use  the  names  writ  in  the  Church  register  here.  He's 
the  Broom-Squire — and  not  the  sort  o*  chap  for  you 
ragamuffins  to  have  dealings  with — let  me  tell  you." 

'*  I  don't  kear  what  he  be,"  said  Lonegon,  sullenly, 
"  but  dang  it,  I'd  like  a  sup  o'  ale  with  your  leave,"  and 
without  further  ceremony  he  took  the  new  tankard 
from  the  sailor  and  quaffed  off  half  its  contents. 

The  hostess  looked  from  the  drinker  to  the  seaman 
and  said,  "  Are  you  standing  tick  for  they  ?  " 

"  I'll  pay  for  their  drink  and  they'll  help  me  along 
the  road  with  the  baby,"  said  the  sailor. 

The  landlady  shrugged  her  shoulders  contempt- 
uously, and  asked,  '*  If  I  may  be  so  bold,  what's  her 
name?" 

"  What's  whose  name  ?  " 

**  The  baby's." 

"  Ha'n't  got  none,"  said  the  seaman. 

"  What,  ain't  she  been  christened  yet  ?  " 

"  No,  I  reckon  not,"  answered  the  father.  Then  he 
proceeded  to  explain.  "  You  see  my  poor  wife  she  was 
down  in  lodgings  and  hadn't  no  friends  nor  relations 
no'ther  nigh  her,  and  she  took  ill  and  never  got  over 
the  birth  of  this  here  babe,  and  so  it  couldn't  be  done. 
But  the  kid's  aunt'll  see  to  all  that  right  enough  when 
I've  got  her  there." 

"  What !  you're  trapsing  about  the  country  hugging 
a  babe  along  under  your  arm  and  slung  over  your 
shoulder  and  feeding  her  o'  blackberries  and  chucking 
her  in  among  fly  poison,  and  not  a  Christian  yet !  My  ! 
What  a  world  it  is  !  " 

"  All  in  good  time,  missus." 

"  That's  what  Betsy  Cole  said  o'  her  pork  and  'ams 
when  the  pig  wor  killed  and  her  hadn't  salt  nor  salt- 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  ii 

petre.  She'd  see  to  it  some  day.  Meanwhile  the 
maggots  came  and  spiled  the  lot." 

**  It  shall  all  be  made  right  in  a  day  or  two." 

"  Ah  !  but  what  if  it  be  too  late  ?  Then  where  will 
you  go  to  some  day?  How  can  you  say  but  that  the 
child  wi*  being  hung  topsy-turvy  and  -swinging  like  a 
pendiddlum  may  die  of  the  apoplexy,  or  the  black- 
berries turn  sour  in  her  blessed  stomach  and  she  go  off 
in  convulsions,  or  that  she  may  ha'  put  out  the  end  o' 
her  tongue  and  sucked  some  o'  that  there  fly  paper  ? 
Then  where  will  you  be  ?  ** 

"  I  hope  I  shall  be  on  board  ship  just  before  that 
comes  to  pass,"  said  the  sailor. 

"  Do  you  know  what  happens  if  a  child  dies  and 
ha'n't  been  christened  ?     It  becomes  a  wanderer." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  It  ain't  a  Christian,  so  it  can't  go  to  heaven.  It 
ain't  done  no  evil,  so  it  can't  go  to  hell ;  and  so  the 
poor  spirit  wanders  about  in  the  wind  and  never  has 
no  rest.  You  can  hear  them  piping  in  the  trees  and  sob- 
bin'  at  the  winder.  I've  heard  'm  scores  of  times.  How 
will  you  like  that  when  at  sea  to  have  your  own  child 
sighing  and  sobbin'  up  in  the  rigging  of  the  vessel,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  hope  it  will  not  come  to  that,"  said  the  sailor. 

"  That's  what  Susan  Bay  said  when  she  put  a  darnin' 
needle  into  the  armchair  cushion,  and  I  sed,  said  I, 
'twas  a  ticklesome  thing  and  might  do  hurt.  She 
did  it  once  too  often.     Her  old  man  sat  down  on  it." 

She  brought  some  more  ale  at  the  request  of  the 
seaman,  and  as  she  set  down  the  tankard  said : 

"  I  won't  be  so  bold  as  to  say  it's  in  Scriptur*, 
but  it's  in  the  Psalm-book  I  dare  swear.  Mother,  she 
were  a  tip-top  tearin'  religious  woman,  and  she  used 
to  say  it  to  me  when  I  was  younger  than  I  be  now  : — 

"  *  They  flies  in  clouds  and  flap  their  shrouds 
When  full  the  moon  doth  shine ; 
In  dead  of  night  when  lacketh  light, 
We  here  'em  pipe  and  pine. 

**  *  And  many  a  soul  wi'  hoot  and  howl 
Doth  rattle  at  the  door, 
Or  rave  and  rout,  and  dance  about 
All  on  a  barren  moor.' 


12  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

"  And  it  goes  on  somehow  like  this.  You  can  think 
on  it  as  you  go  over  Hind  Head  in  the  dark : 

"  *  Or  at  the  winder  wail  and  weep, 
Yet  never  venture  nigher ; 
In  snow  and  sleet,  within  to  creep 
To  warm  'em  at  the  fire.' " 

The  child  began  to  cry  in  the  adjoining  room. 

"  There,"  said  the  landlady,  "  'tis  awake  she  is,  poor 
mite  without  a  name,  and  not  as  much  Christianity  as 
could  make  a  cat  sneeze.  If  that  there  child  were  to 
die  afore  you  got  to  Portsmouth  and  had  her  baptized, 
sure  as  my  name  is  Susanna  Verstage,  I'd  never  for- 
give myself,  and  I'd  hear  her  for  sure  and  certainty  at 
the  winder.  I'm  a  motherly  sort  of  a  woman,  and 
there's  a  lot  o'  them  poor  wanderers  comes  piping 
about  the  panes  of  an  evening.  But  I  can  do  nothing 
for  them." 

"  Now  then,  lads,  let's  be  moving,"  said  the 
mariner. 

The  three  men  at  the  table  rose ;  and  when  stand- 
ing exposed  more  of  their  raggedness  and  the  incon- 
gruity of  their  apparel  than  was  shown  when  they 
were  seated. 

The  landlady  reluctantly  surrendered  the  child. 

"  A  babe,"  said  she,  "  mustn't  be  shaken  after  feed- 
ing;" then,  "  a  babe  mustn't  be  allowed  to  get  its  little 
feet  cold,  or  gripes  comes  ;  "  then,  "  you  must  mind  and 
carry  it  with  the  head  to  your  shoulder,  and  away 
from  the  wind.'*  Presently  another  item  occurred  to 
the  good  woman,  as  the  men  left  their  places  at  the 
table:  '*  You  must  hold  the  child  on  your  arm,  between 
the  wrist  and  the  elbow-jint." 

As  they  went  to  the  door  she  called,  '*  And  never 
be  without  a  drop  o'  dill  water :  it's  comforting  to 
babies." 

As  they  made  their  exit — "  And  when  nussin',  mind, 
no  green  meat  nor  fruit." 

When  all  had  departed  the  landlady  turned  to  the 
man  by  the  fire,  who  still  wore  his  sarcastic  smirk, 
and  said  "  Bideabout !     What  do  you  think  of  they?" 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  13 

'*  I  think,"  answered  the  Broom-Squire,  "  that  I  never 
saw  three  such  cut-throat  rascals  as  those  who  have 
gone  off  with  the  sailor ;  and  as  for  him — I  take  he's 
softish." 

"  I  thought  him  a  bit  of  a  natural." 

"  He  must  be  so  to  start  on  one  of 'the  lonesomest 
roads  in  England,  at  fall  of  night,  with  such  a  parcel 
of  jailbirds." 

"  Well,  dear  life  !  "  exclaimed  the  good  woman.  "  I 
hope  nothing  will  hap*  to  the  poor  child." 

"  Mother,"  said  the  boy,  timidly,  ''  it's  not  true  is  it 
about  the  spirits  of  babies  in  the  wind  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  is.  Where  would  you  have  them  go  ? 
and  they  bain't  Christians.  Hark !  I  won't  say  there 
be  none  flying  about  now.  I  fancy  I  hear  a  sort  of  a 
kind  o'  whistling." 

**  Your  boy  Iver,  he's  coming  with  me  to  the  Punch- 
Bowl,"  said  the  Broom-Squire  ;  "  but  I'll  not  go  for 
half-an-hour,  becos  I  don't  want  to  overtake  that 
lanky,  black-jawed  chap  as  they  call  Lonegon.  He 
ain't  got  much  love  for  me,  and  might  try  to  repay  that 
blow  on  his  wrist,  and  sprawl  on  the  floor  I  gave  him." 

"What  is  Iver  going  to  the  Punch-Bowl  for?"  asked 
the  landlady,  and  looked  at  the  boy,  her  son. 

''  It's  a  snipe's  feather  Bideabout  has  promised  me," 
answered  the  lad. 

"  And  what  do  you  want  a  snipe's  feather  for  at  this 
time  o'  night  ?  " 

"  Mother,  it's  to  make  a  paint  brush  of.  Bideabout 
ain't  at  home  much  by  day.  I've  been  over  the  road 
scores  o'  times." 

"  A  paint  brush  !  What  do  you  want  paint  brushes 
for  ?     Have  you  cleaned  out  the  pig-stye  lately?  " 

"  Yes,  mother,  but  the  pig  lies  abroad  now  ;  it's  warm 
in  the  stye." 

"  Well,  you  may  go.  Dear  life  !  I  wish  I  could 
see  that  blessed  babe  again,  safe  and  sound.    Oh,  my  !  " 

The  good-hearted  woman  was  destined  to  have 
her  wish  answered  more  speedily  than  she  could  have 
anticipated. 


14  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  III. 
THE   PUNCH-BOWL. 

The  Broom-Squire  and  the  boy  were  on  their  way 
up  the  hill  that  led  towards  the  habitation  of  the  for- 
mer ;  or,  to  be  more  exact,  it  led  to  the  summit  of  the 
hill  whence  the  Squire  would  have  to  diverge  at  a  sharp 
angle  to  the  right  to  reach  his  home. 

The  evening  had  closed  in.  But  that  mattered  not 
to  them,  for  they  knew  their  way,  and  had  not  far  to 
go. 

The  road  mounted  continuously,  first  at  a  slight  in- 
cline, over  sand  sprinkled  with  Scotch  pines,  and  then 
more  rapidly  to  the  range  of  hills  that  culminates  in 
Hind  Head,  and  breaks  into  the  singular  cones  entitled 
The  Devil's  Jumps. 

This  is  one  of  the  loveliest  parts  of  fair  England. 
The  pine  and  the  oak  and  the  Spanish  chestnut  luxu- 
riate in  the  soil,  the  sand  tracts  between  the  clumps  are 
deep  in  heather,  at  intervals  the  country  is  furrowed  as 
by  a  mighty  plough  ;  but  the  furrowing  was  done  by 
man's  hand  to  extract  the  metal  of  which  the  plough 
is  formed.  From  a  remote  antiquity  this  district  of 
Surrey,  as  well  as  the  weald  of  Sussex,  was  the  great 
centre  of  the  iron  trade.  The  metal  lies  in  masses  in 
the  sand,  strangely  smooth  and  liver-colored,  and 
going  by  the  name  of  kidney  iron.  The  forest  of  An- 
derida  which  covered  the  weald  supplied  at  once  the 
ore  and  the  fuel  for  smelting. 

In  many  places  are  **  hammer  ponds,"  pools  of  water 
artificially  constructed,  which  at  one  time  served  to 
turn  wheels  and  work  mechanism  for  the  beating  out 
of  the  iron  that  had  been  won  on  the  spot. 

The  discovery  of  coal  and  iron  together,  or  in  close 
proximity,    in    the    North    of  England    brought   this 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  15 

industry  of  the  counties  of  Surrey  and  Sussex  to  an 
abrupt  end.  Now  the  deposits  of  ore  are  no  longer 
worked,  no  furnaces  exist,  only  the  traces  of  the  old 
men's  mines  and  forges  and  smelting  pits  remain  to 
attest  that  from  an  age  before  Caesar  landed  in  Kent, 
down  to  the  close  of  the  last  century,  all  the  iron  em- 
ployed in  England  came  from  this  region. 

Another  singular  feature  of  the  district  consists  in  the 
masses  of  hard  stone,  gray  with  lichen,  that  lie  about, 
here  topping  a  sandhill,  there  dropped  at  random  in 
the  plain.  There  was  at  one  time  many  more  of  these, 
but  owing  to  their  power  of  resisting  heat  they  were 
largely  exploited  as  hearthstones.  These  masses,  there 
can  be  no  doubt,  are  remains  of  superincumbent  beds 
of  hard  rock  that  have  been  removed  by  denudation, 
leaving  but  a  few  fragments  behind. 

That  superstition  should  attach  to  these  blocks  is 
not  marvellous.  The  parish  in  which  lies  the  Punch- 
Bowl  and  rises  Hind  Head,  comprises  one  such  Thors- 
stone,  named  perhaps  after  the  Scandinavian  Thunder 
god.  One  of  these  strange  masses  of  stone  formerly 
occupied  a  commanding  position  on  the  top  of  Borough 
Hill.  On  this  those  in  need  knocked,  whereupon  the 
"  Good  People  "  who  lived  under  it  lent  money  to  the 
knockers,  or  any  utensil  desired  in  loan,  on  condition 
that  it  was  returned.  One  night,  a  petitioner,  who 
was  going  to  give  a  feast  at  the  baptism  of  his  child, 
went  to  the  stone,  and  knocked,  and  asked  in  a  loud 
voice  for  the  loan  of  a  cauldron. 

This  was  at  once  thrust  out  from  under  the  stone, 
and  was  carried  away  and  used  for  the  christening  feast. 
Unhappily,  the  applicant  for  the  cauldron  neglected  to 
return  it  at  the  time  appointed,  and  since  then  no  more 
loans  have  been  made.  The  cauldron,  which  is  of  cop- 
per, isinow  preserved  in  Frensham  parish  church.  It  is 
two  feet  in  diameter,  and  stands  on  an  iron  trivet. 

After  the  road  had  ascended  some  way,  all  trees  dis- 
appeared. The  scenery  was  as  wild  and  desolate  as  any 
in  Scotland.  On  all  sides  heathery  slopes,  in  the  even- 
ing light  a  broken  patch  of  sand  showed  white,  almost 


i6  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

phosphorescent,  through  contrast  with  the  black  ling. 
A  melancholy  bird  piped.  Otherwise  all  was  still. 
The  richly-wooded  weald,  with  here  and  there  a  light 
twinkling  on  it,  lay  far  below,  stretching  to  Lewes. 
When  the  high-road  nearly  reached  the  summit,  it  was 
carried  in  a  curve  along  the  edge  of  a  strange  depres- 
sion, a  vast  basin  in  the  sand-hills,sinking  three  hundred 
feet  to  a  marshy  bottom  full  of  oozing  springs.  This 
is  termed  the  Devil's  Punch-Bowl.  The  modern  road 
is  carried  on  a  lower  level,  and  is  banked  up  against  the 
steep  incline.  The  old  road  was  not  thus  protected 
and  ran  considerably  higher. 

The  night  was  gathering  in,  fold  on  fold,  and  ob- 
scuring all.  The  Punch-Bowl  that  the  Broom-Squire 
and  the  boy  had  on  their  right  was  a  bowl  brimming 
with  naught  save  darkness.  Its  depths  could  not  be 
fathomed  by  the  eye  at  that  time  of  night,  nor  did  any 
sound  issue  from  it  save  a  hissing  as  though  some  fluid 
were  seething  in  the  bowl  ;  yet  was  this  produced 
solely  by  the  wind  swirling  in  it  among  the  harsh 
branches  of  the  heather. 

"  So  your  mother  don't  like  your  drawing  and  paint- 
ing," said  the  Broom-Squire. 

"  No,  Bideabout,  she  and  father  be  terrible  on  at  me 
to  become  a  publican,  and  carry  along  with  the  Ship, 
after  father's  got  old  and  gived  up.  But  I  don't  fancy 
it ;  in  fact,  I  hate  the  thought  of  it.  Of  course,"  added 
the  boy  ;  **  if  they  forces  me  to  it,  I  must.  But  any- 
how I  wouldn't  like  to  have  that  there  Ship  sign  at  our 
door  so  bad  painted  as  she  be.  I  could  do  better  if  I 
had  the  paints." 

''  Oh !  drinkers  don't  care  for  beautiful  pictures  at 
the  door,  but  for  good  ale  within." 

"  I  don't  like  that  there  ship,  and  I  wouldn't  stand 
it — if  the  inn  were  mine." 

"  You're  a  fool,"  said  the  Broom-Squire  contempt- 
uously. "  Here's  the  spot  where  the  turn  comes  off 
the  road  to  my  house.  Mind  where  you  walk,  and 
don't  roll  over  down  the  Punch-Bowl ;  it's  all  a  bog  at 
the  bottom," 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  17 

"There's  no  light  anywhere,"  observed  the  boy. 

"  No — no  winders  look  this  way.  You  can't  say  if 
a  house  is  alive  or  dead  from  here." 

"  How  long  have  you  had  your  place  in  the  Punch- 
Bowl,  Bideabout  ?  " 

"  I've  heard  say  my  grandfather  was  the  first  squatter. 
But  the  Rocliffes,  Boxalls,  Snellings,  and  Nashes  will 
have  it  they're  older.  What  do  I  care  so  long  as  I 
have  the  best  squat  in  the  lot." 

That  the  reader  may  understand  the  allusions  a 
word  or  two  must  be  allowed  in  explanation  of  the 
settlements  in  the  Punch-Bowl. 

This  curious  depression  in  the  sand  range  is  caused 
by  a  number  of  springs  welling  up  several  hundred  feet 
below  the  summit  of  the  range.  The  rain  that  falls  on 
the  hills  sinks  through  the  sand  until  it  reaches  an  im- 
pervious bed  of  clay,  when  it  breaks  forth  at  many 
orifices.  These  oozing  springs  in  course  of  vast  ages 
have  undermined  and  washed  away  the  superincumbent 
sand  and  have  formed  the  crater  called  the  Devil's 
Punch-Bowl.  The  bottom  is  one  impassable  swamp, 
and  the  water  from  the  springs  flows  away  to  the  north 
through  an  opening  in  the  sand-hills. 

At  some  unknown  date  squatters  settled  in  the 
Punch-Bowl,  at  a  period  when  it  was  in  as  wild  and 
solitary  a  region  as  any  in  England.  They  enclosed 
portions  of  the  slopes.  They  built  themselves  hovels  ; 
they  pastured  their  sheep,  goats,  cattle  on  the  sides  of 
the  Punch-Bowl,  and  they  added  to  their  earnings  the 
profits  of  a  trade  they  monopolized — that  of  making 
and  selling  brooms. 

On  the  lower  slopes  of  the  range  grew  coppices  of 
Spanish  chestnut,  and  rods  of  this  wood  served  ad- 
mirably for  broom-handles.  The  heather  when  long 
and  wiry  and  strong,  covered  with  its  harsh  leafage 
and  myriad  hard  knobs,  that  were  to  burst  into  flower, 
answered  for  the  brush. 

On  account  of  this  manufacture,  the  squatters  in  the 
Punch-Bowl  went  by  the  designation  of  Broom-Squires. 
They  provided  with  brooms  every  farm  and  gentle- 
2 


i8  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

man's  house,  nay,  every  cottage  for  miles  around.  A 
wagon-load  of  these  besoms  was  often  purchased,  and 
the  supply  lasted  some  years. 

The  Broom-Squires  were  an  independent  people. 
They  used  the  turf  cut  from  the  common  for  fuel,  and 
the  farmers  were  glad  to  carry  away  the  potash  as 
manure  for  their  fields. 

Another  business  supplemented  farming  and  broom- 
making.  That  was  holly-cutting  and  getting.  The 
Broom-Squires  on  the  approach  of  Christmas  scattered 
over  the  country,  and  wherever  they  found  holly  trees 
and  bushes  laden  with  berries,  without  asking  permis- 
sion, regardless  of  prohibition,  they  cut,  and  then 
when  they  had  a  cartload,  would  travel  with  it  to  Lon- 
don or  Guildford,  to  attend  the  Christmas  market. 

Not  only  did  they  obtain  their  fuel  from  the  heaths, 
but  much  of  their  victual  as  well.  The  sandy  hills 
abound  in  rabbits,  and  the  lagoons  and  morasses  at  the 
foot  of  the  hills  in  the  flat  land  teem  with  fish  and  wild 
fowl.  At  the  present  day  the  ponds  about  Frensham 
are  much  in  request  for  fishing — at  the  time  of  our  tale 
they  were  netted  by  the  inhabitants  of  the  neighbor- 
hood when  they  felt  a  hankering  after  fish,  and  the 
"moors,"  as  marshes  are  locally  termed,  were  prowled 
over  for  ducks,  and  the  sand  burrows  watched  for  rab- 
bits, all  without  let  and  hindrance. 

At  the  present  date  there  are  eight  squatter  families 
in  the  Punch-Bowl,  three  belong  to  the  branches  of 
the  clan  of  Boxall,  three  to  that  of  Snelling,  and  two 
to  the  less  mighty  clan  of  Nash.  At  the  time  of  which 
I  write  one  of  the  best  built  houses  and  the  most  fertile 
patches  of  land  was  in  the  possession  of  the  young 
man,  Jonas  Kink,  commonly  known  as  Bideabout. 

Jonas  was  a  bachelor.  His  father  and  mother  were 
dead,  and  his  sister  had  married  one  of  the  Rocliffe's. 
He  lived  alone  in  his  tolerably  substantial  house,  and 
his  sister  came  in  when  she  was  able  to  put  it  tidy  for 
him  and  to  do  some  necessary  cooking.  He  was  re- 
garded as  close-fisted  though  young ;  his  age  about 
twenty-three  years.     Hitherto  no  girl  had  caught   his 


JONAS  APPROACHED  THE  PROSTRATE   FIGURE  AND   WAVED  THE   FLAMING 

GRASS  ABOVE  IT." — Page  IQi      '^     'j  j    '^     W       /  ''''/'' 


o      »  • 


«      c 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  19 

fancy,  or  had  caught  it  sufficiently  to  induce  him  to 
take  one  to  wife. 

"  Telly  what/'  said  his  sister,  "  you'll  be  nothing  else 
but  an  old  hudger  (bachelor).** 

This  was  coming  to  be  a  general  opinion.  Jonas 
Kink  had  a  heart  for  money,  and  for  that  only.  He 
sneered  at  girls  and  flouted  them.  It  was  said  that 
Jonas  would  marry  no  girl  save  for  her  money,  and 
that  a  monied  girl  might  pick  and  choose  for  herself, 
and  such  as  she  would  most  assuredly  not  make  elec- 
tion of  Bideabout.  Consequently  he  was  foredoomed 
to  be  a  "  hudger." 

*'  What's  that  ?  "  suddenly  exclaimed  the  Broom- 
Squire,  who  led  the  way  along  a  footpath  on  the  side 
of  the  steep  slope. 

"  It's  a  dead  sheep,  I  fancy,  Bideabout." 

"  A  dead  sheep — I  wonder  if  it  be  mine.  Hold  hard, 
what's  that  noise  ?  " 

"  It's  like  a  babe's  cry,"  said  the  boy.  "  Oh,  lawk  ! 
if  it  be  dead  and  ha*  become  a  wanderer !  I  shu'd 
never  have  the  pluck  to"  go  home  alone." 

"  Get  along  with  your  wanderers.  It's  arrant  non- 
sense.    I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it." 

"  But  there  is  the  crying  again.  It  is  near  at  hand. 
Oh,  Bideabout !     I  be  that  terrified  !  " 

'*  I'll  strike  a  light.  I'm  not  so  sure  about  this  being 
a  dead  sheep." 

Something  lay  on  the  path,  catching  what  little  light 
came  from  the  sky  above. 

Jonas  stooped  and  plucked  some  dry  grass.  Then 
he  got  out  his  tinderbox  and  struck,  struck,  struck. 

The  boy's  eyes  were  on  the  flashing  sparks.  He 
feared  to  look  elsewhere.  Presently  the  tinder  was 
ignited,  and  the  Broom-Squire  blew  it  and  held  dry 
grass  haulms  to  the  glowing  embers  till  a  blue  flame 
danced  up,  became  yellow,  and  burst  into  a  flare. 

Cautiously  Jonas  approached  the  prostrate  figure 
and  waved  the  flaming  grass  above  it,  whilst  sparks 
flew  about  and  fell  over  it. 

The  boy,  shrinking  behind  the  man,  looked  timidly 


to  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

forward,  and  uttered  a  cry  as  the  yellow  flare  fell  over 
the  object  and  illumined  a  face. 

**  I  thought  as  much,"  said  the  Broom-Squire. 
"What  else  could  he  expect?  Them  theer  chaps  ha' 
murdered  him.     They've  robbed  and  stripped  him." 

"  Oh— Bideabout !  " 

"  Aye.  What  other  could  come  o'  such  companions. 
They've  gone  off  wi'  his  clothes — left  his  shirt — have 
they?  That's  curious,  as  one  of  the  blackguards  had 
none,'* 

Then  the  child's  wailing  and  sobbing  sounded  more 
continuously  than  before. 

"  The  baby  ain't  far  off,"  said  Jonas.  "  I  suppose 
we  can't  leave  it  here.  This  is  a  pretty  awkward  affair. 
Tell'y  what,  Iver.  You  bide  by  the  dead  man  and 
grope  about  for  that  there  baby,  and  I'll  go  down  to 
the  houses  and  get  help." 

"  Oh,  Bideabout !     I  dursn't." 

"Dursn't  what?" 

"  Not  be  left  alone — here — in  the  Punch-Bowl  with 
a  dead  man." 

"  You're  a  fool,"  said  Jonas,  "  a  dead  man  can't  hurt 
nobody,  and  them  rascals  as  killed  him  are  for  sure  a 
long  way  off  by  this  time.  Look  here,  Iver,  you  timid 
'un,  you  find  that  squalling  brat  and  take  it  up.  I 
don't  mind  a  brass  fardin'  being  here  wi*  a  corpse  so 
long  as  I  can  have  my  pipe,  and  that  I'll  light.  But  I 
can't  stand  the  child  as  well.  You  find  that  and  carry 
it  down,  and  get  the  Boxalls,  or  someone  to  take  it  in. 
Tell  'em  there's  a  murdered  man  here  and  I'm  by  the 
body,  and  want  to  get  home  and  can't  till  someone 
comes  and  helps  to  carry  it  away.  Cut  along  and  be 
sharp.  I'd  ha'  given  a  shilling  this  hadn't  happened 
It  may  cost  us  a  deal  o'  trouble  and  inconvenience—' 
still — here  it  is — and — you  pick  about  and  find  that 
creature  squealin*  its  bellows  out." 

There  was  callousness  unusual  and  repulsive  in  so 
young  a  man.  It  jarred  with  the  feelings  of  the  fright- 
ened and  nervous  boy.  Tears  of  alarm  and  pity  were 
in   his   eyes.     He   felt   about  in   the   heather  till  he 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  it 

reached  the  infant.  It  was  lying  under  a  bush.  He 
took  the  poor  little  creature  up,  and  the  babe,  as  though 
content  to  feel  itself  with  strong  arms  under  it,  ceased 
to  cry. 

"  What  shall  I  do,  Bideabout  ?  "         . 

"  Do — cut  along  and  raise  the  Boxalls  and  the  Snell- 
ings,  and  bid  them  come  and  remove  the  body,  and  get 
someone  to  take  the  child.  Confound  the  whole  con- 
cern. I  wish  they'd  done  it  elsewhere — or  I  hadn't 
come  on  it.     But  it's  like  my  ill-luck." 


22  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
WITHOUT   A    ROOF. 

The  boy,  Iver,  trudged  along  carrying  the  infant  in 
his  arms.  The  little  face  was  against  his  cheek,  and 
the  warm  breath  played  over  it.  Whenever  the  child 
cried,  he  spoke,  and  his  voice  reassured  the  babe,  and 
it  was  quiet  again.  He  walked  cautiously,  as  the  path 
was  narrow  and  the  night  dark.  A  false  step  might 
send  him  rolling  down  the  steep  slope  with  his  burden. 

Iver  had  often  been  to  the  squatters'  quarters,  and 
he  knew  very  well  his  direction  ;  but  he  was  now  agi- 
tated and  alarmed. 

After  a  while  he  reached  bushes  and  could  see  trees 
standing  black  against  the  sky,  and  caught  the  twink- 
ling of  lights.  Before  him  was  a  cottage,  and  a  little 
garden  in  front.  He  opened  a  wicket  and  went  up  to 
the  door  and  rapped.  A  call  of  ''  Who  is  there  ?  "  in 
response.     The  boy  raised  the  latch  and  entered. 

A  red  peat  fire  was  burning  on  the  hearth,  and  a  man 
sat  by  it.  A  woman  was  engaged  at  needlework  by  the 
light  of  a  tallow  candle. 

"  Tom  Rocliffe  !  "  exclaimed  the  boy.  "  There's 
been  a  murder.  A  sailor — he' s  dead  on  the  path — 
there's  Bideabout  Kink  standing  by  and  wants  you  all 
to  come  and  help  and — here's  the  baby." 

The  man  sprang  to  his  feet.  "  A  murder !  Who's 
dead  ?  " 

"  There  was  a  sailor  came  to  our  place,  it's  he." 

"Who  killed  him?" 

"  Some  chaps  as  was  drinking  with  him,  so  Bideabout 
says.     They've  robbed  him — he  had  a  lot  of  brass." 

"  Dead — is  he  ?  "     The  man  ran  out. 

"  And  what  have  you  got  there  ? "  asked  the 
woman. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  23 

"  It's  his  baby." 

"  How  came  he  by  the  baby  ?  ** 
"  I  heard  him  say  his  wife  was  dead,  and  he  were 
going  to  carry  the  child  to  his  wife's  sister." 
"  What's  the  man's  name  ?  " 
"  I  don't  know." 
"  Where  did  he  come  from  ?  ** 
"  He  was  a  seaman." 

"  Where  was  he  going  to  put  the  baby  ?  " 
"  I    don't   know   'xactly  —  somewhere     Portsmouth 
way." 

"  What's  the  man's  name  ?  " 
"  I  don't  know." 
"How'll  you  find  her?" 
"  I  don't  know." 

"  Portsmouth  is  a  large  place.  Are  you  sure  she's  in 
Portsmouth?" 

"  He  said  Portsmouth  way,  I  think." 

"  Then  there  be  a  difficulty  in  finding  her?" 

"  'Spose  there  will.     Will  you  take  the  baby  ?  " 

"I  —  I "     The    woman    stared.     "  What's    its 

name?" 

"  It  ain't  got  none." 

**  Is  it  a  boy  or  girl?" 

"  I  think  it's  a  girl." 

"  How  old  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  said  about  six  weeks." 

"Is  it  healthy?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Maybe  it  has  the  smallpox." 

"  I  do  not  think  so.     Will  you  take  it  ?  " 

"  I — not  I.  I  know  nothin'  about  it.  There's  no 
saying,  it  might  bring  diseases  into  the  house,  and  I 
must  consider  my  own  children.     Is  it  terrible  dirty  ?  " 

"  I — I  don't  think  so." 

^*  And  it  hasn't  got  a  name  ?  " 

"  No  ;  the  sailor  said  it  was  not  baptized." 

"  What's  the  color  of  its  eyes  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Has  it  got  any  hair  ?  " 


24  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

"  I  have  not  looked." 

"  P'raps  it's  an  idjot  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so." 

"  And  is  deformed  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no." 

"  Well,  I  can't  have  no  baby  here  as  I  don't  know 
nothin'  about.  You  can  take  it  over  to  the  Snellings. 
They  may  fancy  it.  I  won't  have  nothin'  to  do  with 
a  babe  as  ain't  got  no  parents  and  no  name,  and  ain't 
got  no  hair  and  no  color  in  its  eyes.  There  is  my 
Samuel  snorin'.  Take  the  child  away.  I  don't  want 
no  measles,  and  smallpox,  and  scarlatina,  and  rickets 
brought  into  my  house.  Quick,  take  the  nasty  thing 
off  as  fast  as  you  can." 

Iver  shrunk  away,  left  the  house,  and  made  his  way, 
carrying  the  baby,  to  another  cottage  a  hundred  yards 
distant.  There  was  a  lane  between  them,  with  a  stream 
running  through  it,  and  the  banks  were  high  and  made 
the  lane  dark.  The  boy  stumbled  and  fell,  and  though 
he  probably  had  not  hurt  the  child,  he  had  frightened 
it,  and  it  set  up  loud  and  prolonged  screams.  With 
brow  bathed  in  perspiration,  and  heart  beating  from 
alarm,  Iver  hurried  up  to  the  second  squatter's  cabin, 
and,  without  knocking,  burst  in  at  the  door. 

"  I  say,"  shouted  he,  "  there's  been  a  man  killed,  and 
here's  a  baby  yelling,  and  I  don't  know  what's  the 
matter  with  it.     I  stumbled." 

A  man  who  was  pulling  off  his  boots  started  to  his  feet. 

"  Stop  that  darned  noise,"  he  said.  "  My  wife — 
she's  bad — got  the  fever,  and  can't  abide  no  noise. 
Stop  that  din  instantly,  or  I'll  kick  you  out.  Who  are 
you,  and  what  do'y  mean  rushing  in  on  a  fellow  that 
way  ?  " 

The  boy  endeavored  to  explain,  but  his  voice  was 
tremulous,  and  the  cries  of  the  infant  pitched  at  a 
higher  note,  and  louder. 

"  I  can't  hear,  and  I  don't  want  to,"  said  the  man. 
Do  you  mind  what  I  sed  ?  My  wife  be  terrible  bad 
wi'  fever,  and  her  head  all  of  a  split,  and  can't  bear  no 
noise — and  will  you  do  what  I  say  ?     Take  that  brat 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  25 

away.  Is  this  my  house  or  is  it  yours  ?  Take  that 
'orrid  squaller  away,  or  I'll  shy  my  boot  at  yer  head." 

"  But/*  said  Iver,  "  there's  a  man  dead — been  mur- 
dered up  in  the " 

"  There'll  be  more  afore  long,  if  yon  don't  cut.  I'll 
heave  that  boot  at  you  when  I've  counted  thrice,  if  you 
don't  get  out.  Drat  that  child  !  It'll  wake  my  wife. 
Now,  then,  are  you  going?" 

Iver  retreated  hastily  as  the  man  whirled  his  heavy 
boot  above  his  head  by  the  lace. 

On  leaving  the  house  he  looked  about  him  in  the 
dark.  The  cottages  were  scattered  here  and  there, 
some  in  hollows  by  springs,  others  on  knolls  above 
them,  without  a  definite  road  between  them,  except 
when  two  enclosures  formed  a  lane  betwixt  their 
hedges. 

The  boy  was  obliged  to  step  along  with  great  care, 
and  to  feel  his  way  in  front  of  him  with  his  foot  before 
planting  it.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  had  elapsed  before 
he  reached  the  habitation  of  the  next  squatter. 

This  was  a  ramshackle  place  put  together  of  doors 
and  windows  fitted  into  walls,  made  of  boards,  all  taken 
from  ruinous  cottages  that  had  been  pillaged,  and  their 
wreckage  pieced  together  as  best  could  be  managed. 
Here  Iver  knocked,  and  the  door  was  opened  cautiously 
by  an  old  man,  who  would  not  admit  him  till  he  had 
considered  the  information  given. 

"  What  do  you  say?  A  man  murdered?  Where? 
When  ?     Are  the  murderers  about  ?  " 

"  They  have  run  away." 

"  And  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  Would  you  mind  taking  in  the  poor  little  baby, 
and  going  to  help  Master  Bideabout  Kink  to  carry  the 
body  down." 

"  Where  to  ?  Not  here.  We  don't  want  no  bodies 
here." 

The  old  fellow  would  have  slammed  the  door  in 
Iver's  face  had  not  the  boy  thrust  in  foot  and  knee. 

Then  a  woman  was  heard  calling,  "  What  is  that 
there,  Jamaica?     I  hear  a  babe," 


26  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

"  Please,  Mrs.  Cheel,  here  is  a  poor  little  creature, 
the  child  of  the  murdered  man,  and  it  has  no  one  to 
care  for  it,"  said  the  boy. 

"  A  babe  !  Bless  me  !  give  the  child  to  me,"  cried 
the  woman.  "  Now  then,  Jamaica,  bundle  out  of  that, 
and  let  me  get  at  the  baby." 

''  No,  I  will  not,  Betsy,"  retorted  the  man  designated 
Jamaica.  *' Why  should  I?  Ask  for  an  inch,  and 
they'll  have  an  ell.  Stick  in  the  toe  of  the  baby,  and 
they'll  have  the  dead  father  after  it.  I  don't  want  no 
corpses  here." 

"  I  will  have  the  baby.  I  haven't  set  my  eyes  on  a 
baby  this  hundred  years." 

"  I  say  you  shan't  have  nothing  of  the  sort." 

"  I  say  I  shall.  If  I  choose  to  have  a  baby,  who's 
to  say  me  nay  ?  " 

"  I  say  you  nay.     You  shan't  have  no  babies  here." 

"This  is  my  house  as  much  as  yourn." 

"  I'm  master  I  reckon." 

"  You  are  an  old  crabstick." 

"  You're  an  old  broom-handle." 

"  Say  that  again." 

"  I  say  it." 

**  Now  then — are  you  going  to  hit  me  ?  " 

"  I  intend  to." 

Then  the  old  man  and  his  wife  fell  to  fighting,  claw- 
ing and  battering  each  other,  the  woman  screaming  out 
that  she  would  have  a  baby,  the  man  that  she  should  not. 

Iver  had  managed  to  enter.  The  woman  snatched 
at  the  child,  the  man  wrenched  it  away  from  her. 
The  boy  was  fain  to  escape  outside  and  fly  from  the 
house  with  the  child  lest  the  babe  should  be  torn  in 
pieces  between  them.  He  knew  old  Cheel  and  his 
wife  well  by  repute — for  a  couple  ever  quarrelling. 

He  now  made  his  way  to  another  house,  one  oc- 
cupied by  settlers  of  another  family.  There  were  here 
some  sturdy  sons  and  daughters. 

When  Iver  had  entered  with  the  babe  in  his  arms 
and  had  told  his  tale,  the  young  people  were  full  of 
excitement. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  27 

"  Bill,"  said  one  of  the  lads  to  his  brother,  "  I  say ! 
This  is  news.     I'm  off  to  see." 

"  I'll  go  along  wi'  you,  Joe." 

'*  How  did  they  kill  him  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  girls. 
"  Did  they  punch  him  on  the  head  ?  "     . 

"  Or  cut  his  throat  ?  "  asked  Bill. 

"  Joe  !  "  called  one  of  the  girls,  "  I'll  light  the  lan- 
tern, and  we'll  all  go." 

"  Aye !  "  said  the  father,  "  these  sort  o'  things  don't 
happen  but  once  in  a  lifetime." 

''  I  wouldn't  be  out  of  seeing  it  for  nuthin',"  said  the 
mother.  *'  Did  he  die  sudden  like  or  take  a  long  time 
about  it  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  they'll  inquitchhim,"  said  one  of  the  girls. 

"  There'll  be  some  hanging  come  o'  this,"  said  one 
of  the  boys. 

"  Oh,  my  !  There  will  be  goings  on,"  said  the  mother. 
*'  Dear  life,  I  may  never  have  such  a  chance  again.  Stay 
for  me,  Betsy  Anne.     I'm  going  to  put  on  my  clogs." 

"  Mother,  I  ain't  agoing  to  wait  for  your  clogs." 

"  Why  not?     He  won't  run  away." 

"  And  the  baby  ?  "  asked  Iver. 

"  Oh,  bother  the  baby.  We  want  to  see  the  dead 
man." 

"  I  wonder,  now,  where  they'll  take  him  to  ?  "  asked 
the  mother.     "  Shall  we  have  him  here  ?  " 

"I  don't  mind,"  said  the  father.  ^' Then  he'll  be 
inquitched  here  ;  but  I  don't  want  no  baby." 

**  Nor  do  I  nuther,"  said  the  woman.  "  Stay  a  mo- 
ment, Betsy  Anne  !  I'm  coming.  Oh,  my  !  whatever 
have  I  done  to  my  stocking,  it's  tore  right  across." 

"Take  the  child  to  Bideabout,"  said  one  young  man, 
*'  we  want  no  babies  here,  but  we'll  have  the  corpse, 
and  welcome.  Folks  will  come  and  make  a  stir  about 
that.  But  we  won't  have  no  babies.  Take  that  child 
back  where  you  found  it." 

"  Babies  !  "  said  another,  scornfully,  "  they  come 
thick  as  blackberries,  and  bitter  as  sloes.  But  corpses 
— and  they  o'  murdered  men — them's  coorosities." 

"  But  the  baby  ?  "  again  asked  the  boy. 


28  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  V. 

MEHETABEL. 

IvER  stood  in  the  open  air  with  the  child  in  his 
arms.  He  was  perplexed.  What  should  be  done  with 
it  ?  He  would  have  rubbed  his  head,  to  rub  an  idea 
into  it,  had  not  both  his  arms  been  engaged. 

Large  warm  drops  fell  from  the  sky,  like  tears  from 
an  overcharged  heart.  The  vault  overhead  was  now 
black  with  rain  clouds,  and  a  flicker  over  the  edge  of 
the  Punch-Bowl,  like  the  quivering  of  expiring  light 
in  a  despairing  eye,  gave  evidence  that  a  thunderstorm 
was  gathering,  and  would  speedily  break. 

The  babe  became  peevish,  and  Iver  was  unable  to 
pacify  it. 

He  must  find  shelter  somewhere,  and  every  door  was 
shut  against  the  child.  Had  it  not  been  that  the  storm 
was  imminent,  Iver  would  have  hasted  directly  home, 
in  full  confidence  that  his  tender-hearted  mother  would 
receive  the  rejected  of  the  Broom-Squire,  and  the  Ship 
Inn  harbor  what  the  Punch-Bowl  refused  to  enter- 
tain. 

He  stumbled  in  the  darkness  to  Jonas  Kink's  house, 
but  finding  the  door  locked,  and  that  the  rain  was 
beginning  to  descend  out  of  the  clouds  in  rushes,  he 
was  obliged  to  take  refuge  in  an  out-house  or  barn 
— which  the  building  was  he  could  not  distinguish. 
Here  he  was  in  absolute  darkness.  He  did  not  ven- 
ture to  grope  about,  lest  he  should  fall  over  some  of 
the  timber  that  might  be,  and  probably  was,  collected 
there. 

He  supposed  that  he  was  in  the  place  where  Jonas 
fashioned  his  brooms,  in  which  case  the  chopping 
block,  the  bundles  of  twigs,  as  well  as  the  broom-sticks 
would  be  lying  about.     Bideabout  was  not  an  orderly 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  29 

and  tidy  worker,  and  his  material  would  almost  certainly 
be  dispersed  and  strewn  in  such  a  manner  as  to  trip 
up  and  throw  down  anyone  unaccustomed  to  the  place, 
and  unprovided  with  a  light. 

The  perspiration  broke  out  on  the  boy's  brow.  The 
tears  welled  up  in  his  eyes.  He  danced  the  infant  in 
his  arms,  he  addressed  it  caressingly,  he  scolded  it. 
Then,  in  desperation,  he  laid  it  on  the  ground,  and  ran 
forth,  through  the  rain,  to  the  cottage  of  an  old  maid 
near,  named  Sally,  stopping,  however,  at  intervals  in 
his  career,  to  listen  whether  the  child  were  still  crying  ; 
but  unable  to  decide,  owing  to  the  prolonged  chime  in 
his  ears.  It  is  not  at  once  that  the  drums  of  hearing 
obtain  relief,  after  that  they  have  been  set  in  vibration 
by  acute  clamor.  On  reaching  the  old  maid's  door  he 
knocked. 

For  some  time  Sally  remained  irresponsive. 

"  I  knows  very  well,"  said  she  to  herself  under  the 
bedclothes,  "  it's  that  dratted  boy  who  has  been  at  the 
Rocliffe's." 

Tver  persisted  in  knocking.  At  length  she  appeared 
at  the  casement,  opened  it,  thrust  forth  her  night- 
capped  head,  and  said  peevishly,  "  It  ain't  no  manner 
o'  use.  I  won't  have  no  babies  here,  not  to  my  time 
o'  life,  thank'y.  I  sez  I  won't,  and  wot  I  sez  that  I 
sticks  to  like  toffee  between  the  teeth.  You  may  knock 
them  there  knuckles  of  yorn  into  dimples,  but  open  I 
won't.     I  won't.     I  won't." 

The  old  woman  stamped  on  her  bedroom  floor. 

"  I  do  not  ask  that,  Sally,"  pleaded  the  boy.  *'  I 
have  set  the  baby  in  Bideabout's  barn,  and  there's  no 
knowin',  it  may  get  hold  of  the  chopper  and  hack  off 
its  limbs,  or  pull  down  all  the  rick  o'  broom-handles  on 
itself,  or  get  smothered  in  the  heather.  I  want  a  lan- 
tern. I  don't  know  how  to  pacify  the  creature,  and  'tis 
squeadling  that  terrible  I  don't  know  what's  the  mat- 
ter." 

**  Is  it  a  drawin'  of  the  hind  legs  up,  and  stiffenin'  of 
the  back  ?  "  asked  the  old  maid. 

"I  think  so,"  answered  the  boy,  dubiously ;  then. 


30  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

with  further  consideration,  "  I'm  sure  of  it.  It  wriggled 
in  my  arms,  like  a  worm  when  one's  gettin'  it  on  a  hook 
out  fishing." 

**  That's  convulsions,"  said  Sally.  "  'Twill  go  off  in 
one  of  they,  sure  as  eggs  is  eggs  and  ain't  inions." 

**  Do  you  really  say  so  ?  " 

"  It's  that,  or  water  on  the  brain.  Wi'  all  this  pour- 
ing rain,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  'twasn't  the  tother.  Not, 
you  know,  that  I've  any  acquaintance  wi*  babies. 
Only  I've  heard  wimmin  talk  as  has  had  em  just  like 
rabbits." 

**  Do  they  die  when  they  have  water  on  the  brain  ?  " 
asked  the  boy. 

"Always.  Babies  can't  stand  it,  no  more  nor  can 
goslings  gettin'  their  backs  wetted." 

"  Don't  you  think  that  perhaps  it's  only  hunger?" 

"  Can't  say.  Has  the  babe  been  a  grabbin'  and  a 
clawin'  at  your  nose,  and  a  tryin'  to  suck  it  ?  " 

"  Once,  Sally,  when  my  nose  got  into  the  way." 

"Then  there's  hunger  too,"  said  Sally,  sententiously. 
"  Them  babies  has  terrible  apertites,  like  canibals,  and 
don't  know  what's  good  for  'em." 

"  Will  you  help  me  ?  "  pleaded  the  boy.  "  Have 
you  a  feeding  bottle?" 

"  Presarve  and  deliver  us — I !  What  do  you  take 
me  for,  you  imperant  bye  ?  " 

"  I  think  any  medicine  bottle  would  do,  if  well 
washed  out.  I  shouldn't  like,  if  there  was  any  castor 
oil  or  senna  tea  dregs  left,  you  know.  But  properly 
washed  out,  it  might  do,  with  a  little  milk  in  it." 

"You'll  choke  the  baby  like  that,"  said  the  old 
maid. 

"  I  have  seen  how  it  is  done.  You  stuff  a  bit  of  rag 
into  the  throat  of  the  bottle,  and  leave  a  tip  o'  rag 
hanging  out." 

"  Dare  say,  but  you  byes  seems  to  understand  these 
things  better  than  I." 

"  Won't  you  come  down  and  help  me,  Sally  ?  " 

"  ril  come  down  presently,  wheri  I've  tumbled  intg 
some  of  my  clothes,*' 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  31 

Then  the  head  disappeared,  and  the  casement  was 
shut. 

After  the  lapse  of  a  few  minutes,  a  light  appeared  at 
the  window  of  the  lower  room,  and  the  door  was  slowly 
unlocked  and  unbarred. 

Then  the  old  woman  appeared  in  the'  doorway.  She 
wore  her  huge  white-frilled  nightcap,  that  fluttered  in 
the  wind  about  the  shrivelled  face  it  enclosed,  but 
she  presented  an  extremely  limp  and  attenuated  ap- 
pearance in  her  person. 

"  I've  been  a  turnin'  over  in  my  head,"  she  said, 
*'  and  ten  chances  to  half-a-one,'  if  that  there  child  hev 
been  squealin'  so  long,  it's  either  broke  a  blood  vessel, 
or  will  die  o'  'plexy.  There'll  be  a  purty  expense  to 
the  parish.  There'll  be  two  buryings  laid  on  it  that 
oughten't  to  be.  That  means  an  extra  penny  in  the 
rates.  If  them  there  chaps  wanted  to  murder  a  man, 
why  didn't  they  go  and  do  it  in  Hampshire,  and  not 
go  a  burdenin'  of  this  county  an'  parish?  There's 
rayson  in  everything." 

**  Do  you  really  suppose  the  child  will  die  ?  "  asked 
the  boy,  more  concerned  about  the  life  than  about  the 
rates. 

"  How  can  I  say  ?  I've  had  precious  little  to  do  wi* 
babies,  thanks  be.  Now,  sharp,  what  is  it  you  want  ? 
I'm  perishin'  wi*  cold." 

'*  May  I  have  a  bottle  and  some  milk,  and  a  lantern  ?  " 

"You  can  have  wot  you  wants,  only  I  protest  I'll 
have  no  babies  foist  on  me  here."  Then  she  added,  "  I 
will  not  trust  you  byes.  Show  me  your  hands  that 
you  ain't  hidin'  of  it  behind  yer  back." 

"  I  assure  you  the  child  is  in  Bideabout's  shed.  Do 
be  quick,  and  help.  I  am  so  afraid  lest  it  die,  and  be- 
comes a  wanderer." 

"  If  I  can  help  it  I  will  do  what  I  can  that  it 
mayn't  die,  for  certain,"  said  the  woman,  "  anything 
but  taking  it  in  here,  and  that  I  won't,  I  won't,  I 
won't."     Again  she  stamped. 

Iver  provided  himself  with  the  requisites  as  speedily 
as  might  be,  and  hastened  back  to  the  outhouse,     At 


S2  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

the  door  a  cat  was  miawling,  and  rubbed  itself  against 
his  shins.     When  he  entered  the  cat  followed  him. 

The  child  was  still  sobbing  and  fitfully  screaming, 
but  was  rapidly  becoming  exhausted. 

Iver  felt  the  arms  and  head  and  body  to  ascertain 
whether  any  bone  was  broken  or  battered  by  the  fall, 
but  his  acquaintance  with  the  anatomy  of  a  child  was 
too  rudimentary  for  him  to  come  to  any  satisfactory 
conclusion. 

He  held  the  bottle  in  one  hand,  but  was  ignorant 
how  to  administer  the  contents.  Should  the  child  be 
laid  on  its  back  or  placed  in  a  sitting  posture  ? 

When  he  applied  the  moistened  rag  to  its  mouth  he 
speedily  learned  that  position  was  immaterial.  The 
babe  fell  to  work  vigorously,  with  large  expectation  of 
results.  Some  moments  elapsed  before  it  awoke  to  the 
fact  that  the  actual  results  were  hardly  commensurate 
with  its  anticipations,  nor  with  its  exertions. 

When  roused  to  full  consciousness  that  it  was  being 
trifled  with,  then  the  resentment  of  the  infant  was  ve- 
hement and  vociferous.  It  drew  up  its  legs  and  kicked 
out.  It  battled  with  its  hands,  it  butted  with  its  pate, 
and  in  its  struggles  pulled  the  plug  out  of  the  mouth  of 
the  flask  so  that  the  milk  gushed  over  its  face  and  into 
its  mouth,  at  once  blinding  and  choking  it. 

A  series  of  strangulating  coughs  and  gasps  ensued, 
and  the  creature  turned  the  color  of  a  mulberry.  Iver 
was  more  alarmed  than  he  had  been  before.  He  did 
his  utmost  to  rescue  the  contents  of  the  bottle  from 
being  entirely  spilled,  and  he  replaced  the  plug. 

*'  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear,  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  he  exclaimed, 
and  began  to  cry  with  vexation. 

The  cat  now  came  to  his  assistance.  It  began  to 
lick  up  the  spilled  milk. 

Iver  seized  the  occasion. 

"Look,  see,  pretty  puss!"  said  he,  caressingly,  to 
the  child.  "  Stroke  pussy.  Don't  be  afraid.  You  see 
she  likes  the  milk  that  you  wouldn't  have.  Naughty 
pussy  eats  little  birds  and  mousies.  But  she  won't 
touch  babies," 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  33 

The  cat  having  appropriated  the  spilled  milk  looked 
at  the  infant  in  an  uncanny  way  out  of  her  glinting 
green  eyes,  as  though  by  no  means  indisposed  to  try 
whether  baby  was  not  as  good  eating  as  a  fledgling 
bird,  as  toothsome  as  a  mouse. 

Iver  caught  up  the  cat  and  scratched  her  under  the 
chin  and  behind  the  ears. 

"  Do  you  hear?  The  pussy  purrs.  Would  that  you 
also  might  purr.  She  is  pleased  to  make  your  ac- 
quaintance.    Oh  do,  do,  do  be  quiet  !  " 

Then  casting  aside  the  cat  he  endeavored  slowly  to 
distil  some  of  the  milk  down  the  child's  throat  without 
suffering  it  to  swallow  too  much  at  once,  but  found 
the  task  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  for  his  hand  shook. 

**Wait  a  bit,"  said  he.  "There  are  straws  here.  I 
will  cut  one  and  put  it  through  the  rag,  and  then  you 
can  tipple  like  a  king  upon  his  throne." 

He  selected  a  stout  barley  straw,  and  finding  a  knot 
in  it  endeavored  to  perforate  the  obstruction  with  a 
pin.  When  this  failed  he  looked  about  for  another 
straw,  and  at  last  discovered  one  that  was  strong,  un- 
interrupted by  knots,  and  sufficiently  long  to  serve  his 
purpose. 

For  awhile  he  was  so  engrossed  in  his  occupation 
that  the  child  remained  unnoticed.  But  when  the  straw 
had  been  adjusted  satisfactorily,  and  the  apparatus 
was  in  working  order,  as  Iver  ascertained  by  testing  it 
himself,  then  he  looked  round  at  his  charge. 

The  babe  was  lying  silent  and  motionless. 

His  heart  stood  still. 

"  It  is  dead  !  It  is  going  to  die !  It  will  become  a 
wanderer!  "  he  exclaimed  ;  and  putting  down  the  feed- 
ing bottle,  snatched  up  the  lantern,  crept  on  his  knees 
to  the  child,  and  brought  the  little  face  within  the 
radius  of  the  sickly  yellow  light. 

"  I  cannot  see  !  O,  I  can  see  nothing  !  There  is  no 
light  worth  having !  "  he  gasped,  and  proceeded  to 
open  the  door  in  the  lantern  side. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  "  he  asked  despairingly.  **  I 
do  not  know  if  it  be  dying  or  be  in  a  fit.  O  !  live  !  do, 
3 


34  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

do  live  !  I'll  give  you  a  brass  button  and  some  twine 
out  of  my  pocket !  I  promise  you  my  next  lollipops 
if  you  will.  Nasty,  cross,  disobliging  thing."  He 
went  to  the  barn  door  and  looked  out,  saw  that  the 
rain  was  coming  down  in  torrents,  came  back.  "  Is  it 
true,"  asked  he,  "  that  you  must  be  a  wanderer,  if  you 
die  unchristened  ?  Shall  I  ever  hear  you  yowHng  in 
the  wind  ?     It  is  too,  too  dreadful !  " 

A  chill  came  over  the  boy's  heart. 

Iver  had  never  seen  death.  He  was  vastly  fright- 
ened at  the  thought  that  the  little  soul  might  fleet 
away  whilst  he  was  watching.  He  dared  not  leave  the 
child.  He  was  afraid  to  stay.  If  he  were  to  desert 
the  babe,  and  it  expired — and  to  run  home,  would  not 
the  soul  come  crying  and  flapping  after  him? 

He  considered  with  his  hands  to  his  head. 

''  I  know  what  I  will  do  !  "  exclaimed  he,  suddenly  ; 
"  I'll  make  a  Christian  of  it,  anyhow." 

There  was  standing  on  the  floor  an  old  broken  red 
bowl  of  coarse  pottery,  out  of  which  fowls  had  been 
fed.     It  was  now  empty. 

Iver  took  it,  wiped  it  out  with  his  hand,  and  went 
with  it  to  the  door,  where  a  rude  *'  launder  "  or  shoot 
of  wood  carried  the  water  from  the  thatch  immediately 
over  the  door,  and  sent  the  collected  moisture  in  a 
stream  down  one  side.  The  boy  held  the  vessel  under 
the  shoot  till  he  had  obtained  sufficient  for  his  purpose, 
and  then,  returning  within,  said,  *'  I'll  stop  your  wander- 
ing," went  up  to  the  child,  sprinkled  some  water  over 
it  and  said,  "  Mehetabel,  I  baptize  thee ** 

The  cat  made  a  spring  and  dashed  past. 

Down  went  the  contents  of  the  bowl  over  the  babe, 
which  uttered  a  howl  lusty,  loud  enough  to  have 
satisfied  any  nurse  that  the  baptism  was  valid,  and  that 
the  devil  was  expelled. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  35 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MEHETABEL  IT  MUST  BE. 

In  at  the  barn  door  came  Mrs.  Verstage,  Iver's 
mother. 

"Iver!     Wot'sup?" 

"  Oh,  mother  !  " 

"  Where's  that  babe  ?  *' 

**  Here,  mother,  on  the  ground." 

"  On  the  ground !  Good  Hfe  !  Sowsed,  soaked 
through  and  through,  whatever  have  you  been  doin'  ? 
Holdin'  it  under  the  spout  ?" 

**Baptizin' it,  mother." 

*'  Baptizin*  of  it  ?  "     The  woman  stared. 

"  I  thought  the  creetur  was  dyin'." 

"Well,  and  wot  then?" 

"  Mother.     Lest  it  shud  take  to  wanderin'." 

"  Baptizin'  of  it.  Dear  life  !  And  what  did  you 
call  it  ?  " 

"  Mehetabel." 

"  Mehetabel !     'Taint  a  human  name." 

"  It  is,  mother.     It's  a  Scriptur'  name." 

"  Never  heard  on  it." 

"Mehetabel  was  the  wife  of  Hadar." 

"  And  who  the  dickens  was  Hadar?" 

"  He  was  a  dook — a  dook  of  Edom." 

In  the  churchyard  of  Thursley  stands  a  large  white 
stone,  on  which  is  carved  a  medallion,  that  contains  the 
representation  of  a  man  falling  on  the  ground,  with  one 
arm  raised  in  deprecation,  whilst  two  men  are  robbing 
and  murdering  him,  and  a  third  is  represented  as  act- 
ing sentinel  lest  the  ruffians  should  be  surprised.  On 
the  ground  are  strewn  the  garments  of  the  man  who  is 


36  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

being  killed.     Beneath  this  rudely  sculptured  group  is 
this  inscription : — 

IN    MEMORY    OF 

A  generous,  but  unfortunate  Sailor, 

Who  was  barbarously  murdered  on  Hind  Head, 

On  September  24th,  1786, 

BY    THREE    VILLAINS, 

After  he  had  liberally  treated   thern  and  promised 

them  his  farther  Assistance  on  the  Road 

to  Portsmouth. 

In  the  "  Royal  Huts,"  a  tavern,  in  which  now  very 
good  entertainment  for  man  and  beast  may  be  had,  a 
tavern  which  stands  somewhat  further  along  the  way 
to  Portsmouth  than  Hind  Head,  may  be  seen  at  this 
day  some  rude  contemporary  paintings  representative 
of  the  murder. 

The  rufifians  after  having  killed  their  victim,  robbed 
him,  not  only  of  his  money,  but  also  of  his  clothes, 
and  hastened  on  their  way. 

A  hue  and  cry  were  raised,  when  the  corpse  had  been 
discovered,  and  the  men  were  arrested  upon  the  fol- 
lowing day  at  Sheet,  near  Peterhead,  and  were  found 
in  possession  of  the  clothing  of  the  deceased.  In  due 
course  of  time  they  were  tried  at  Kingston,  and  on  the 
7th  of  April,  1787,  were  hung  and  gibbeted  in  chains 
on  Hind  Head  Hill,  beside  the  old  road  and  close  to 
the  scene  of  their  crime. 

A  cross  now  marks  the  summit,  and  indicates  the 
spot  where  stood  the  gallows,  and  a  stone  for  some 
time  pointed  out  the  locality  where  the  murder  was 
committed.  When,  however,  the  new  Portsmouth 
Road  was  cut  further  down  the  hill,  skirting  the  Punch- 
Bowl  at  a  lower  level,  then  the  stone  was  removed  to 
the  side  of  the  new  road.  At  present  it  is  an  object 
visited  by  vast  numbers  of  holiday-makers,  who  seem 
to  take  almost  as  lively  an  interest  in  the  crime  that 
was  committed  over  a  century  ago  as  if  it  were  an 


'      THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  37 

event  of  the  present  day.  At  the  time  the  murder 
aroused  the  greatest  possible  excitement  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  pre-eminently  in  the  parish  of 
Thursley. 

As  may  be  gathered  from  the  wording  of  the  inscrip- 
tion on  the  tombstone  that  covers  the  victim,  his 
name  never  transpired.  No  relations  claimed  the  right 
to  bury  him.  None  appeared  to  take  charge  of  his 
orphan  child. 

The  parish  fretted,  it  fumed,  it  protested.  But  fret, 
fume,  and  protest  availed  nothing,  it  had  to  defray  the 
cost  of  the  funeral,  and  receive  and  lap  the  child  in  its 
parochial  mercies. 

A  deceased  wife's  sister  undoubtedly  existed  some- 
where. Such  was  the  conviction  of  every  parishioner. 
The  poor  man  was  on  his  way  to  Portsmouth  to  de- 
posit his  child  with  her  when  the  tragic  event  took 
place.  Why  did  she  not  come  forward?  Why  did 
she  hold  her  tongue? 

Had  there  existed  in  her  bosom  one  particle  of  natural 
feeling  she  would  not  have  remained  mute  and  motion- 
less, and  allowed  the  parish  to  bury  her  brother-in-law 
and  encumber  itself  with  her  niece. 

So  the  parish  talked,  appealingly,  argumentatively, 
blusteringly,  objurgatively,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  The 
deceased  wife's  sister  kept  mum,  and  invisible.  Re- 
luctantly, resentfully,  the  parish  was  finally  obliged  to 
face  the  facts,  pay  the  expenses  of  the  interment,  and 
settle  that  a  weekly  dole  should  be  afforded  for  the 
maintenance  of  the  child,  and  as  that  deceased  wife's 
sister  did  not  appear,  the  parochial  bile  overflowed 
upon  the  hapless  babe,  who  came  to  be  regarded  as  an 
incubus  on  the  ratepayers  and  a  general  nuisance. 

The  one  difficulty  that  solved  itself — ambulando, 
was  that  as  to  who  would  take  charge  of  the  child. 
That  was  solved  by  the  hostess  of  the  Ship. 

The  parish  endeavored  to  cajole  the  good  woman 
into  receiving  the  babe  as  a  gift  from  Heaven,  and  to 
exact  no  compensation  for  her  labors  in  rearing  it,  for 
the  expense  of  clothing,  feeding,  educating  it.     But 


38  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

Mrs.  Verstage  was  deaf  to  such  solicitations.  She 
would  take  charge  of  the  child,  but  paid  she  must  be. 
Eventually  the  parochial  authorities,  after  having 
called  a  vestry,  and  sat  three  hours  in  consultation, 
and  to  "  knuckle  under,"  as  the  hostess  expressed  it, 
and  allow  a  trifle  for  the  entertainment  of  the  Httle 
waif. 

So  the  matter  was  settled. 

Then  another  had  to  be  determined.  What  about 
the  christening  performed  in  the  shed  by  Iver  ?  What 
about  the  outlandish  name  given  the  child  ?  The 
landlady  raised  no  question  on  these  heads  till  it  was 
settled  that  the  little  being  was  to  be  an  inmate  of  her 
house,  and  under  her  care.  Then  she  reasoned  thus — 
"  Either  this  here  child  be  a  Mehetabel  or  she  bain't. 
Either  it's  a  Christian  or  it's  a  heathen.  What  is  it  ? 
Is  it  fish,  is  it  flesh,  or  is  it  good  red  herring  ?  It  ain't 
no  use  my  calling  her  Mehetabel  if  she  bain't  nothing 
of  the  sort.  And  it  ain't  no  use  teachin'  her  the 
caterplasm,  if  she  ha'n't  been  made  a  Christian.  I'll 
go  and  ax  the  pa'son." 

Accordingly  the  good  woman  took  Iver  by  the 
shoulder  and  dragged  him  to  Witley  Vicarage,  and 
stated  her  case  and  her  difficulties.  The  Vicar  had 
already  had  wind  of  what  had  occurred.  Thursley 
was  at  the  period  a  chapelry  in  the  extensive  parish 
of  Witley,  and  the  church  therein  had,  before  the 
Reformation,  been  regularly  served  by  the  monks  of 
Witley  Abbey.  It  was  afterwards  more  or  less  irreg- 
ularly supplied  with  sacred  ministrations  from  the 
mother-church,  and  had  no  resident  pastor. 

In  former  days  the  parishioners  were  never  very  sure 
whether  there  was  to  be  a  service  in  Church  at  Thur- 
sley or  not.  The  sexton  was  on  the  look-out,  and  if 
he  saw  the  parson's  wig  glimmering  over  the  hedge 
top,  as  he  rode  along,  then  he  at  once  rushed  to  the 
bell-rope  and  announced  to  such  of  the  parishioners  as 
were  within  hearing,  that  there  was  to  be  divine 
service.  If  there  were  no  service,  then  those  who  had 
come  from  a  distance  in  expectation  of  devotion,  re- 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  39 

tired  to  the  tavern  and  drank  and  gossiped,  and  were 
not  disposed  to  cavil.  The  Church  of  Thursley  is 
curious,  it  has  a  central  bell-tower  supported  on  huge 
beams  of  oak,  such  oaks  they  must  have  been  as  are 
never  seen  now.  Those  desiring  to  see  the  parson  had 
to  seek  him  in  the  Vicarage  of  the  mother  parish. 

Mrs.  Verstage  accordingly  had  to  go  with  her  boy 
to  Witley. 

"  If  the  boy  gave  a  name "  said  the  parson. 

"  He  did,  your  Reverence,  and  such  a  name." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Mehetabel." 

"  Wherever  did  you  pick  up  that  name  ?  "  asked  the 
Vicar,  turning  to  the  boy. 

"  Please,  sir,  we  was  doin'  the  Dooks  of  Edom  in 
Sunday-school.  We'd  already  learned  David's  mighty 
men,  and  could  run  'em  off  like  one  o'clock,  and — I 
don't  know  how  it  was,  sir,  but  the  name  slipped  out 
o*  my  mouth  wi'out  a  thought.  You  see,  sir,  we  had 
so  many  verses  to  say  for  next  Sunday,  and  I  had  some 
of  the  Dooks  of  Edom  to  repeat." 

"  Oh !  So  you  gave  it  the  name  of  one  of  the 
Dukes." 

"  Please,  sir,  no.  Mehetabel  was  the  wife  of  one,  she 
was  married  to  his  Grace,  Dook  Hadar." 

"  Oh,  Hadar  !  to  be  sure,  quite  so  ;  quite  so  !  Very 
good  boy,  glad  you  are  so  well  primed  in  all  things 
necessary  to  salvation." 

"  And  is  the  child  to  be  called  Mehetabel  ?  "  asked 
the  woman. 

"  That  depends,"  said  the  Vicar.  "  How  did  the 
boy  perform  the  sacred  function  ?  " 

**  Please,  sir,"  said  Iver,  "  I  did  it  as  your  Honor 
does,  after  the  second  lesson  on  Sunday  afternoon,  and 
the  churching." 

"  He  hadn't  no  surplice  on,"  argued  the  mother. 

**  You  had  a  bowl  of  pure  water  ?  "  asked  the 
parson. 

"  Yes,  sir,  rain  water.  I  caught  it  out  of  the 
spout." 


40  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

"  And  the  words  used  ?  " 

"  The  same  as  you  say,  sir ;  exactly." 

The  parson  rubbed  his  chin. 

"  Was  it  done  in  thoughtlessness — in  irreverent 
folly  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  sir  !  I  did  it  in  sober  earnest.  I  thought 
the  child  was  going  to  die." 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  Vicar,  "  lay  baptism  is  valid, 
even  if  administered  by  a  Dissenter ;  but — it  is  very 
unusual,  very  much  so." 

"  I  didn't  do  all  that  about  the  cross,"  observed  Tver, 
"  because  the  cat  jumped  and  upset  the  bowl." 

**  Of  course,  of  course.  That  belongs  to  the  recep- 
tion into  the  church,  and  you  couldn't  do  that  as  it 
was " 

"  In  Bideabout's  basin,"  said  Iver. 

"  You  are  certain  the  water  touched  the  child  ?  " 

"  Soused  her,"  responded  the  hostess.  "  She  caught 
a  tremendous  cold  out  o'  it,  and  has  been  runnin'  at 
the  nose  ever  since." 

"  1  think  the  very  best  thing  we  can  do,"  said  the 
Vicar,  "  is  that  I  should  baptize  the  child  conditionally, 
in  church, — conditionally  mind." 

"  And  call  her  by  another  name  ?  "  asked  the 
woman. 

"  I  do  not  think  I  can  do  that." 

"  It's  a  terrible  mouthful,"  observed  Mrs.  Verstage. 

*'  I  daresay  that  in  practice  you  will  be  able  to  con- 
dense it.  As  for  that  boy  of  yours,  ma'am,  I  should 
like  a  word  with  him,  by  himself." 

**  So,  the  creetur  must  bide  Mehetabel  ?  " 

"  Mehetabel  it  must  be." 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  41 


CHAPTER  VII.      • 
FALSE   PERSPECTIVE. 

As  this  story  concerns  that  child  which  received  the 
name  of  Mehetabel,  it  has  been  necessary  to  begin  de 
novo  with  her  as  a  babe,  and  to  relate  how  she  came 
by  her  name — that  is  her  Christian  name — and  how  it 
was  that  she  had  no  surname  at  all.  Also,  how  it  was 
that  she  came  to  be  an  inmate  of  the  Ship,  and  how 
that  her  fortunes  were  linked  at  the  very  outset  of  her 
career,  on  the  one  hand  with  Iver,  who  baptized  her, 
and  on  the  other  hand  with  the  Broom-Squire,  whose 
roof — that  at  least  of  his  shed — had  sheltered  her  when 
every  door  of  the  squatter  settlement  in  the  Punch- 
Bowl,  was  resolutely  closed  against  her. 

But  although  this  story  begins  with  Mehetabel  before 
she  could  speak,  before  she  could  assimilate  anything 
more  substantial  than  milk,  yet  the  author  has  no  in- 
tention of  inflicting  on  the  reader  the  record  of  her 
early  days,  of  her  acquisition  of  the  power  of  speech, 
and  capacity  for  consuming  solid  food.  Neither  is  it 
his  purpose  to  develop  at  large  the  growth  of  her  men- 
tal powers,  and  to  describe  the  evolution  of  her 
features.  Suffice  it  then  to  say  that  Mehetabel  grew 
up  in  the  Ship  Inn,  almost  as  a  child  of  the  hostess 
and  of  her  husband,  with  Iver  as  her  playmate,  and 
somewhat  consequential  patron. 

By  the  parish  at  large,  whether  that  of  Witley  or  of 
its  subdivision  Thursley,  she  was  coldly  regarded.  She 
was  but  a  charity  girl,  and  kind  as  Mrs.  Verstage  was, 
the  hostess  never  forgot  that. 

Iver  was  fourteen  years  older  than  Mehetabel,  and, 
above  all,  was  a  boy,  whereas  Mehetabel  was  a  waif, 
and  only  a  girl. 

Iver,  moreover,  regarded    the    child  with  gracious 


42  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

condescension.  Had  he  not  baptized  her  ?  Did  she 
not  owe  her  name  to  him  ?  Had  he  not  manufactured 
her  first  feeding-bottle  ? 

As  Mehetabei  grew  up,  it  is  not  surprising  that  she 
should  regard  Iver  with  admiration  and  affection,  that 
she  cherished  every  kindness  he  showed  her,  and  in 
every  way  sought  to  deserve  his  notice. 

The  child  had  an  affectionate,  a  clinging  nature,  and 
she  threw  the  tendrils  of  her  heart  around  the  hand- 
some boy,  who  was  both  patron  and  playmate. 

It  is  a  matter  wholly  immaterial  whether  Mehetabei 
underwent  the  ordeal  of  the  customary  childish  mala- 
dies, measles,  chicken-pox,  whooping-cough  for  cer- 
tainty, and  scarlet  fever  and  smallpox  as  possibilities, 
for  none  of  them  cut  short  the  thread  of  her  life,  nor 
spoiled  her  good  looks  ;  either  of  which  eventualities 
would  have  prevented  this  story  proceeding  beyond  the 
sixth  chapter.  In  the  one  case,  there  would  have  been 
no  one  about  whom  to  write,  in  the  other,  had  she 
been  marked  by  smallpox  or  deafened  by  scarlatina, 
the  interest  of  the  reader  could  not  have  been  claimed 
for  her — so  exacting  is  the  reader  of  fiction.  A 
heroine  must  be  good-looking,  or  she  will  not  be  read 
about. 

Indeed,  it  is  more  than  probable,  that  had  the 
author  announced  his  story  to  be  one  of  a  very  plain 
woman,  he  might  have  looked  in  vain  for  a  publisher 
to  undertake  the  issue  of  the  story. 

Before  proceeding  further  it  will  be  well  to  assure  the 
reader  that,  from  an  early  age,  promise  of  beauty  was 
given,  and  not  of  beauty  only,  but  of  intelligence  and 
robust  health. 

Mehetabei  was  sent  by  Mrs.  Verstage  not  only  to  a 
day  school,  kept  by  a  widow,  in  Thursley,  but  also  on 
the  Lord's  Day  to  the  Vicar's  Sunday-school  at  Wit- 
ley.  The  Vicar  was  an  excellent  man,  kindly  dis- 
posed, earnest  in  his  desire  to  do  good,  so  long  as  the 
good  was  to  be  done  in  a  novel  fashion,  absolutely  un- 
tried. Sunday-schools  were  but  a  recent  introduction, 
and  he  seized  on  the  expedient  with  avidity.    Hitherto 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  43 

the  children  had  been  catechised  in  Church  after  the 
second  lesson  in  the  afternoon,  before  their  parents 
and  the  entire  congregation.  But  as  this  was  an 
usage  of  the  past  the  Vicar  rejected  it  in  favor  of  the 
new  system.  According  to  the  traditional  custom  the 
children  had  been  instructed  in  the  Creed,  the  Lord's 
Prayer,  and  the  Ten  Commandments.  But  this  did  not 
please  the  innovating  Vicar,  who  cast  these  out  of  his 
curriculum  to  make  way  for  a  knowledge  of  the  geog- 
raphy of  Palestine,  and  an  accurate  acquaintance  with 
the  genealogies  that  are  to  be  found  scattered  here  and 
there  in  the  pages  of  Holy  Writ.  The  teaching  of 
doctrine,  according  to  the  Vicar,  lay  at  the  bottom  of 
the  divisions  of  Christendom,  but  there  could  be  no 
controversy  over  the  latitude  and  longitude  of  the 
sites  mentioned  in  Scripture. 

The  landlord,  proprietor  of  the  Ship  and  of  Mrs. 
Susanna  Verstage,  was  a  dull,  obstinate  man,  slow  of 
thought  and  of  speech,  withal  kindly.  Like  many  an- 
other dull  man,  if  he  did  a  stupid  thing  he  stuck  to  it ; 
and  the  stupider  the  thing  done,  the  greater  the  te- 
nacity with  which  he  held  to  the  consequences.  His 
mind  was  chiefly  occupied  with  a  small  farm  acquired 
out  of  the  sand  waste,  hedged  about,  dressed  and 
cultivated,  and  increasing  annually  in  value.  In  this 
was  his  interest  and  pride  ;  he  cared  nothing  for  the 
tavern,  save  as  an  adjunct  to  the  farm.  All  his  energies 
were  devoted  to  the  latter,  and  he  allowed  his  wife  to 
rule  supreme  in  the  inn.  Simon  Verstage  was  a  well- 
to-do  man.  He  must  have  managed  very  ill  had  he 
not  made  a  farm  answer  for  which  he  paid  no  rent, 
save  an  acknowledgment  of  6d.  an  acre  to  the  lord  of 
the  manor.  He  held  the  land  on  a  head  rent  upon 
the  lives  of  himself,  his  wife,  and  his  son.  The  public- 
house,  well  frequented  by  wayfarers,  and  in  good  repute 
among  the  villagers,  supplemented  the  profits  made  out 
of  the  farm  in  good  years,  and  made  up  for  deficit  in 
such  years  as  rain  and  deficiency  in  sun  made  bad 
agriculturally. 

The  inn  stood  at  a  junction  of  roads,  or  rather  where 


44  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

two  lanes  fell  into  the  main  London  and  Portsmouth 
road.  It  sometimes  went  in  consequence  by  the  name 
of  The  Lane  End  Inn.  In  situation  it  was  fairly  shel- 
tered, a  hillock  of  sand  rock  sheltered  it  on  the  east 
from  the  bitter  winds  that  swept  the  waste  between 
Milford  and  Thursley,  and  a  growth  of  huge  hollies  was 
its  protection  against  the  equally  cold  blasts  from  the 
north. 

So  long  as  Iver  was  a  small  boy,  his  father  employed 
him  about  the  farm,  to  assist  him  in  ploughing,  to  hoe 
potatoes,  and  wield  the  muck-fork  in  the  cowhouse,  or, 
to  use  the  local  term,  the  cowstall.  He  kept  the  lad 
hard  at  work  from  morning  rise  till  set  of  day. 

Iver  endured  this,  not  entering  with  interest  and 
pleasure  into  the  work  of  the  farm.  He  had  no  per- 
ception of  the  points  of  a  bullock,  and  he  had  a  prej- 
udice in  favor  of  ragged  hedges. 

Iver's  neglect  of  duties,  and  forgetfulness  of  what 
was  told  him,  called  forth  reprimand  and  provoked 
chastisement.  They  were  not  due  to  wilfulness  or 
frivolity^  but  to  preoccupation  of  the  mind.  The  boy 
had  no  natural  taste  for  the  labors  of  the  field.  He 
disliked  them  ;  for  everything  else  he  had  eyes,  save 
for  that  which  pertained  to  the  tasks  imposed  on  him. 

Throughout  early  boyhood  this  lack  of  interest  and 
inattention  had  caused  much  friction,  and  this  friction 
became  aggravated  as  he  grew  older,  and  his  natural 
bent  became  more  marked. 

It  would  be  hard  to  find  in  one  family  two  persons 
so  utterly  dissimilar  as  Iver  and  his  father.  They 
seemed  to  have  diverse  faculties  seated  in  their  several 
organs.  They  neither  saw,  heard,  nor  smelt  in  the 
same  manner,  or  rather  saw,  heard,  and  smelt  so  differ- 
ently as  to  feel  in  distinct  fashion.  What  pleased  the 
one  was  distasteful  to  the  other. 

It  was  not  possible  for  Iver  to  open  his  mind  to  his 
father,  because  his  father  could  not  understand  and 
appreciate  his  thoughts. 

But  if  his  heart  was  sealed  to  Simon  Verstage,  it 
was  open  to  his  mother,  who  loved  and  spoiled  him, 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  45 

and  took  his  part  invariably,  whether  the  boy  were  in 
the  right  or  wrong.  In  every  way  possible  she 
humored  his  fancies ;  and  she,  unwisely,  condoled 
with  him  on  what  she  was  pleased  to  consider  as  his 
father's  injustice.  At  length  there  ensued  a  rupture 
so  wide,  so  aggravated  by  mutual  recrimination,  that 
Mrs.  Verstage  doubted  her  ability  to  bridge  it  over. 

This  breach  was  occasioned  by  Iver  one  morning 
climbing  to  the  sign-board  and  repainting  the  stern  of 
the  vessel,  which  had  long  irritated  his  eye  because, 
whereas  the  ship  was  represented  sideways,  the  stern 
was  painted  without  any  attempt  at  fore-shortening  ; 
in  fact,  full  front,  if  such  a  term  can  be  applied  to  a 
stern. 

The  laws  of  perspective  were  outraged  in  the  original 
painting ;  of  such  laws  Iver  knew  nothing.  What  he 
did  know  was  that  the  picture  was  wrong.  His  eye, 
his  natural  instinct  told  him  so.  The  matter  had  been 
for  long  one  of  controversy  between  himself  and  his 
father.  The  latter  had  been  unable  to  understand  that 
if  the  portholes  at  the  side  were  visible,  the  entire  stern 
could  not  possibly  be  viewed  in  full. 

"  She's  got  a  stern,  ain't  she  ?  "  asked  the  old  man. 
"  If  she  has,  then  wot's  we  to  deny  it  her?  " 

At  length  Iver  cut  the  controversy  short,  and  brought 
the  quarrel  to  a  crisis  by  climbing  a  ladder  with  a  brush 
and  some  paints  obtained  from  the  village  carpenter, 
during  the  temporary  absence  of  his  father,  and  put- 
ting the  foreshortening  to  rights  to  the  best  of  his 
ability. 

When  the  old  man  was  aware  what  his  son  had  done 
on  his  return  from  Godalming,  whither  he  had  betaken 
himself  to  a  fair,  then  he  was  furious.  He  stormed  at 
Iver  for  daring  to  disfigure  the  sign-board,  and  at  his 
wife  for  suffering  him  to  do  it  unreproved. 

Iver  turned  stubborn  and  sulky.  He  muttered  an 
answer,  lacking  in  that  respect  due  to  a  parent.  The 
old  man  became  abusive. 

Mrs.  Verstage  intervened  ineffectually  ;  and  when 
night  arrived  the  youth  made  a  bundle  of   his  clothes 


46  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

and  left  the  house,  with  the  resolve  not  to  return  to  it 
so  long  as  his  father  lived. 

Whither  he  had  gone,  for  a  long  time  was  unknown. 
His  mother  wept,  so  did  Mehetabel.  The  old  man 
put  on  an  assumption  of  indifference,  was  short  and 
ungracious  to  his  wife.  He  was  constrained  to  engage 
a  man  to  do  the  farm  work  hitherto  imposed  upon 
Iver,  and  this  further  tended  to  embitter  him  against 
his  rebellious  son.  He  resented  having  to  expend 
money  when  for  so  long  he  had  enjoyed  the  work  of 
Iver  free  of  cost. 

The  boy's  pride  prevented  him  from  writing  home 
till  he  had  secured  himself  a  position  in  which  he 
could  maintain  himself.  When  he  did  communicate 
with  Thursley,  it  was  through  Mehetabel,  because 
Simon  had  forbidden  any  allusion  to  the  truant  boy, 
and  Mrs.  Verstage  was  not  herself  much  of  a  scholar, 
and  did  not  desire  unnecessarily  to  anger  her  hus- 
band by  having  letters  in  his  handwriting  come  to  her 
by  the  post. 

Years  passed,  during  which  the  landlady's  heart  ached 
for  her  son :  and  as  she  might  not  speak  of  him  to 
Simon,  she  made  a  confidant  of  Mehetabel. 

Thus,  the  old  woman  and  the  girl  were  drawn  closer 
together,  and  Mehetabel  glowed  with  the  thought  that 
she  was  loved  by  the  hostess  as  though  she  were  her 
own  daughter. 

To  talk  about  the  absent  one  was  the  great  solace 
of  Susanna  Verstage's  life.  There  ever  gnawed  at  her 
heart  the  worm  of  bereavement  from  the  child  in 
whom  her  best  affections,  her  highest  pride,  her  sole 
ambitions  were  placed.  It  may  be  questioned  whether, 
without  the  sympathetic  ear  and  heart  of  Mehetabel 
into  which  to  pour  her  troubles  and  to  which  to  con- 
fide her  hopes,  the  woman  would  not  have  deteriorated 
into  a  hard-hearted  virago. 

Her  love  to  Simon,  never  very  hot,  had  dried  up. 
He  had  wounded  her  to  the  quick  in  unpardonable 
fashion  in  driving  her  only  child  out  of  the  house, 
and  all  for  the  sake  of  a  two-penny-ha'penny  signboard. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  47 

Throughout  her  work  she  schemed,  she  thought  for 
Iver ;  she  toiled  and  endured  in  the  tavern  only  to 
amass  a  competence  for  him.  She  clung  to  the 
place  only  because  she  trusted  some. day  he  would 
return  to  it,  and  because  every  corner  was  sweet  with 
recollections  of  him. 

When  not  at  work  she  dreamed,  waking  or  sleep- 
ing, and  all  her  dreams  were  of  him.  She  built  castles 
in  the  air — all  occupied  by  him.  She  had  but  one 
hope :  to  meet  her  son  again.  All  her  activities,  all 
her  thoughts,  all  her  aspirations,  all  her  prayers  were 
so  many  lines  focussing  on  one  point,  and  that  her 
son.  To  Mehetabel  she  told  her  mind,  and  Mehet- 
abel  shared  all  her  hopes ;  the  heart  of  the  girl  beat 
in  entire  sympathy  with  that  of  the  hostess.  Iver's 
letters  were  read  and  re-read,  commented  on,  and  a 
thousand  things  read  into  them  by  the  love  of  the 
mother  that  were  not,  and  could  not  be  there.  These 
letters  were  ever  in  the  girl's  bosom,  kept  there  to  be 
out  of  reach  of  old  Simon,  and  to  be  accessible  at 
all  moments  to  the  hungering  mother.  They  heard 
that  Iver  had  taken  to  painting,  and  that  he  was 
progressing  in  his  profession  ;  that  he  gave  lessons  and 
sold  pictures. 

What  musings  this  gave  rise  to !  what  imaginations  ! 
What  expectations! 

Mrs.  Verstage  never  wearied  of  talking  of  Iver  to 
Mehetabel,  and  it  never  wearied  the  girl  to  speak  with 
the  mother  about  him. 

The  girl  felt  that  she  was  indispensable  to  the  old 
woman  ;  but  that  she  was  only  indispensable  to  her 
so  long  as  Iver  was  away  never  entered  into  her 
imagination. 

There  is  a  love  that  is  selfish  as  well  as  a  love 
that  is  wholly  self-annihilating,  and  an  inexperienced 
child  is  incapable  of  distinguishing  one  from  the  other. 

There  is  false  perspective  in  the  human  heart  as  well 
as  upon  signboards. 


48  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
ONLY  A  CHARITY  GIRL. 

Simon  Verstage  sat  outside  the  door  of  his  house, 
one  hot  June  evening,  smoking  his  pipe. 

By  his  side  sat  his  wife,  the  hostess  of  the  Ship. 
Eighteen  years  have  passed  since  we  saw  her  last,  and 
in  these  years  she  has  become  more  plump,  a  little 
more  set  in  features,  and  mottled  in  complexion,  but 
hardly  otherwise  older  in  appearance. 

She  was  one  of  those  women  who  wear  well,  till  a 
sickness  or  a  piercing  sorrow  breaks  them  down,  and 
then  they  descend  life's  ladder  with  a  drop,  and  not  by 
easy  graduation. 

Yet  Mrs.  Verstage  had  not  been  devoid  of  trouble, 
for  the  loss  of  her  son,  the  very  apple  of  her  eye,  had 
left  an  ache  in  her  heart  that  would  have  been  un- 
endurable, were  not  the  balm  of  hope  dropped  into  the 
wound.  Mehetabel,  or  as  she  was  usually  called  Mat- 
abel,  had  relieved  her  of  the  most  onerous  part  of 
her  avocation.  Moreover,  she  was  not  a  woman  to 
fret  herself  to  fiddle-strings;  she  was  resolute  and 
patient.  She  had  formed  a  determination  to  have  her 
son  home  again,  even  if  she  had  to  wait  for  that  till 
his  father  was  put  under  ground.  She  was  several 
years  younger  than  Simon,  and  in  the  order  of  nature 
might  calculate  on  enjoyment  of  her  widowhood. 

Simon  and  his  wife  sat  in  the  wide  porch.  This  had 
been  constructed  as  an  accommodation  for  wayfarers, 
as  an  invitation  to  take  shade  and  shelter  in  hot  weather 
or  blustering  storm  ;  but  it  also  served,  what  was  un- 
contemplated, as  an  ear  to  the  house.  Whatever  was 
uttered  there  was  audible  within — a  fact  very  generally 
forgotten   or   unsuspected   by   such   as   occupied  the 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  49 

porch.  And,  indeed,  on  the  present  occasion,  this  fact 
was  wholly  unconsidered  by  the  taverner  and  his  spouse, 
either  because  it  escaped  their  minds  that  the  porch 
was  endowed  with  this  peculiarity,  or.else  because  the 
only  person  then  in  the  house  was  Mehetabel,  and  her 
hearing  or  not  hearing  what  was  said  was  an  indifferent 
matter. 

Had  there  been  customers  present,  drinking,  the  two 
would  not  have  been  together  when  and  where  they 
were,  nor  would  the  topic  of  conversation  between  them 
have  been  of  a  private  nature. 

The  innkeeper  had  begun  with  a  remark  which  all 
the  world  might  hear,  and  none  would  controvert,  viz., 
that  it  was  fine  hay-making  weather,  and  that  next  day 
he  purposed  carrying  the  crop. 

But  Mrs.  Verstage  was  indisposed  to  discuss  a  matter 
so  obvious  as  the  weather,  and  so  certain  as  that  it 
would  be  utilized  for  saving  the  hay.  She  plunged 
at  once  into  that  which  lay  near  her  heart,  and  said, 
"  Simon,  you'll  answer  that  there  letter  now  ?  " 

"Whose?     Iver's?" 

"  Of  course,  Iver's  letter.  Now  you  yourself  have 
heard  from  him,  and  what  does  that  mean  but  he  wants 
all  square  between  you.  He  has  got  into  a  famous 
business.  He  sells  his  pictures  and  gives  lessons  in 
drawing  and  painting  at  Guildford.  It's  but  a  matter 
of  time  and  he  will  be  a  great  man." 

"  What !  as  a  drawing  master  ?  I'd  as  lief  he  played 
the  fiddle  and  taught  dancing." 

"  How  can  you  say  that,  Simon  ?" 

**  Because  it  is  what  I  feels.  Here  he  had  a  good 
farm,  a  good  inn,  and  a  good  business — one  that  don't 
dwindle  but  is  on  the  increase,  and  the  land  bettering 
every  day — and  yet  off  he  went,  chucked  aside  the 
blessin's  of  Providence,  to  take  up  wi'  scribblin*  and 
scrawlin'  on  paper.  If  it  weren't  a  thing  altogether 
shameful  it  would  be  clear  ridic'lous." 

Simon  sucked  in  smoke  enough  to  fill  his  lungs,  and 
then  blew  it  forth  leisurely  in  a  long  spiral. 

"  Odds'  life,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  se;e  why  I  shu*d  con- 
4 


50  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

cern  myself  about  the  hay,  nor  anythin*  else.  I've 
enough  to  live  upon  and  to  enjye  myself.  What  more 
do  I  want  now?  " 

"  What  more  ?  "  inquired  the  landlady,  with  a  sigh 
and  a  catch  in  her  voice — a  sigh  of  sorrow,  a  catch  of 
resentment.     "  What  more — when  your  son  is  away  ?  " 

'*  Whose  fault  is  that  ?  Home  weren't  good  enough 
for  he.  Even  the  Old  Ship  on  the  sign-board  didn't 
give  him  satisfaction,  and  he  must  alter  it.  I  don't  see 
why  I  should  worrit  myself  about  the  hay  or  any  other 
thing.     I'll  just  put  up  my  feet  an'  enjye  myself." 

"  Simon,  I  pray  you  answer  Iver's  letter.  Opportu- 
nities be  like  fleas,  to  be  took  sharp,  or  away  they  goes, 
they  be  terrible  long-legged.  Opportunities  only  come 
now  and  then,  and  if  not  caught  are  lost  past  recall. 
'Twas  so  wi'  Temperance  Noakes,  who  might  a'  had  the 
chimbley-sweep  if  she'd  a  kissed  him  when  he  axed. 
But  she  said.  Wipe  and  wash  your  face  fust — and  she's 
an  old  maid  now,  and  goin'  sixty.  Consider,  Simon. 
Iver  be  your  son,  your  only  child.  It's  Providence 
makes  us  wot  we  is ;  that's  why  you're  a  man  and  not 
a  woman.  Iver  hadn't  a  gift  to  be  a  farmer,  but  he  had 
to  paintin'.  It  can't  be  other — it's  Providence  orders 
all,  or  you  might  be  a  mother  and  nursin'  a  baby,  and 
I  smokin'  and  goin'  after  the  plough  in  leggins." 

'*  That's  all  gammon,"  growled  the  landlord. 

"  We  be  gettin'  old,"  pursued  Mrs.  Verstage.  **  In 
the  end  you'll  have  to  give  up  work,  and  who  but  Iver 
is  to  come  after  you  here  ?  " 

"  Him — Iver  !  "  exclaimed  Simon.  "  Your  own  self 
says  'e  ain't  fit  to  be  a  farmer." 

**  Then  he  may  let  the  farm  and  stick  to  the  inn." 

"  He  ain't  got  the  makin*  of  a  publican  in  him,"  re- 
torted the  man  ;  "  he's  just  about  fit  for  nothin'  at  all." 

"Indeed,  but  he  is,  Simon,"  pleaded  the  woman, 
"  only  not  in  the  way  you  fancies.  What  good  be  you 
now  in  a  public-house  ?  You  do  nothing  there,  it  is  I 
who  have  all  the  managin'." 

"  I  attend  to  the  farm.  Iver  can  do  neither.  All 
the  money  you  and  I  ha*  scraped  together  he'll  chuck 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  51 

away  wi*  both  hands.  He'll  let  the  fences  down  I  ha' 
set  up  ;  he'll  let  weeds  overrun  the  fields  I  ha'  cleared. 
It  shall  not  be.     It  never  shall  be." 

"  He  may  marry  a  thrifty  wife,  as  you  have  done." 

"  And  live  by  her  labor ! "  he  exclajmed,  drawing 
his  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  in  knocking  out  the  ash 
in  his  anger  breaking  the  stem.  "  That  a  child  o*  mine 
should  come  to  that !  " 

"  Iver  is  your  own  flesh  and  blood,"  persisted  the 
woman,  in  great  excitement.  "  How  can  you  be  so 
hard  on  him  ?  It's  just  like  that  old  fowl  as  pecked 
her  eggs,  and  we  had  to  wring  her  neck.  It's  like  rab- 
bits as  eat  their  own  young.  Nonsense  !  You  must 
be  reconciled  together.  What  you  have  you  cannot 
leave  to  a  stranger." 

"  I  can  do  what  I  will  with  my  own,"  retorted  Simon. 
"  Look  here,  Susanna,  haven't  you  had  that  girl,  Mata- 
bel,  with  you  in  place  of  a  child  all  these  years  ?  Don't 
she  work  like  a  slave?  Don't  she  thoroughly  under- 
stand the  business  ?  Has  she  ever  left  the  hogs  un- 
meated,  or  the  cow  unmilked  ?  If  it  pleases  you  to  go 
to  market,  to  be  away  for  a  week,  a  fortni't  you  know 
that  when  you  come  home  again  everything  will  be 
just  as  you  left  it,  the  house  conducted  respectable,  and 
every  drop  o'  ale  and  ounce  o'  'backy  accounted  for." 

"  I  don't  deny  that  Matabel's  a  good  girl.  But  what 
has  that  to  do  with  the  matter  ?  " 

"  What !  Why  everything.  What  hinders  me  leavin* 
the  whole  pass'l  o*  items,  farm  and  Ship  to  her  ?  She'll 
marry  a  stiff  man  as  11  look  after  the  farm,  and  she'll 
mind  the  public-house  every  mite  as  well  as  ever  have 
you,  old  woman.  That's  a  gal  as  knows  chalk  from 
cheese." 

Mrs.  Verstage  leaned  back  with  a  gasp  of  dismay 
and  a  cramp  at  her  heart.  She  dropped  her  hands  on 
htr  lap. 

*'  You  ain't  speaking  serious,  Simon  ?  " 

"  I  might  do  wuss,"  said  he ;  "  and  the  wust  I  could 
do  *ud  be  to  give  everythin'  to  that  wastrel,  Iver,  who 
doti't  Know  the  vally  of  a  good  farm   and  of  a  well- 


52  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

established  public-house.  I  don't  want  nobody  after 
I'm  dead  and  gone  to  see  rack  and  ruin  where  all  were 
plenty  and  good  order  both  on  land  and  in  house,  and 
that's  what  things  would  come  to  wi'  Iver  here." 

"  Simon,  he  is  a  man  now.  He  was  a  boy,  and  what 
he  did  as  a  boy  he  won't  do  as  a  man." 

*'  He's  a  dauber  of  paints  still." 

The  taverner  stood  up.  "I'll  go  and  cast  an  eye 
over  the  hay-field,"  he  said.  "  It  makes  me  all  of  a 
rage  like  to  think  o'  that  boy." 

He  threw  away  the  broken  pipe  and  walked  off. 

Mrs.  Verstage's  brain  spun  like  a  teetotum  ;  her 
heart  turned  cold. 

She  was  startled  out  of  her  musings  by  the  voice  of 
Mehetabel,  who  said,  ''  Mother,  it  is  so  hot  in  the 
kitchen  that  I  have  come  out  to  cool  myself.  Where 
is  father  ?     I  thought  I  heard  him  talking  with  you  ?" 

"  He's  gone  to  the  hay-field.  He  won't  answer  Iver's 
letter.  He's  just  about  as  hard  as  one  o'  them  Ham- 
mer Ponds  when  frozen  to  the  bottom,  one  solid  lump." 

"  No,  mother,  he  is  not  hard,"  said  Mehetabel,  "  but 
he  does  not  like  to  seem  to  give  way  all  at  once.  You 
write  to  Iver  and  tell  him  to  come  here ;  that  were 
better  than  for  me  to  write.  It  will  not  seem  right  for 
him  to  be  invited  home  by  me.  The  words  from 
home  must  be  penned  by  you  just  as  though  spoke  by 
you.  He  will  return.  Then  you  will  see  that  father 
will  never  hold  out  when  he  has  his  own  son  before  his 
eyes." 

"  Did  you  hear  all  that  father  and  I  was  sayin'  ?  " 
asked  the  hostess,  suspiciously. 

"  I  heard  him  call  out  against  Iver  because  he  altered 
the  signboard  ;  but  that  was  done  a  long  time  agone." 

"  Nuthin'  else  ?  " 

"  And  because  he  would  never  make  a  farmer  nor  an 
innkeeper." 

"  It's  a  dratted  noosence  is  this  here  porch,"  mut- 
tered the  hostess.  **  It  ort  to  'a  been  altered  ages 
agone,  but  lor,  heart-alive,  the  old  man  be  that  stub- 
born and  agin'  all  change.     And  you  heard  no  more  ?  " 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  53 

I  was  busy,  mother,  and  didn't  give  attention  to 
what  didn't  concern  me." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Mrs.  Verstage,  *'  only  listened,  did  you, 
to  what  did  concern  you  ?" 

A  fear  had  come  over  the  hostess  Jest  the  girl  had 
caught  Simon's  words  relative  to  his  notion,  rather  than 
intention,  of  bequeathing  what  he  had  away  from  Iver 
and  to  the  child  that  had  been  adopted. 

Of  course,  Simon  did  not  seriously  purpose  doing 
anything  of  the  sort.  It  was  foolish,  inconsiderate  of 
him  to  give  utterance  to  such  a  thought,  and  that  in 
such  a  place  as  the  porch,  whence  every  whisper  was 
conveyed  throughout  the  interior  of  the  house. 

If  Mehetabel  had  overheard  his  words,  what  a  Fool's 
Paradise  she  might  create  for  herself !  How  her  head 
might  be  turned,  and  what  airs  she  might  give  herself. 

Leave  the  farm,  the  inn,  everything  to  a  girl  with 
whom  they  were  wholly  unconnected,  and  to  the  det- 
riment of  the  son.  Hoity-toity  !  such  a  thought  must 
not  be  allowed  to  settle,  to  take  root,  to  spring  up  and 
fructify. 

"  Mother,"  said  the  girl,  "  I  think  that  you  ought  to 
write  to  Iver  with  your  own  hand,  though  I  know  it 
will  cost  you  trouble.  But  it  need  not  be  in  many 
words.  Say  he  must  come  himself  without  delay  and 
see  father.  If  Iver  keeps  at  a  distance  the  breakage 
will  never  be  mended,  the  wound  will  never  be  healed. 
Father  is  a  resolute  man,  but  he  is  tender-hearted  under 
all,  and  he's  ever  been  wonderful  kind  to  me." 

"  Oh,  yes,  so  long  as  he  ain't  crossed  he's  right  enough 
with  anyone,"  answered  Mrs.  Verstage  quickly.  She 
did  not  reHsh  the  allusion  to  the  old  man's  kindness 
towards  Mehetabel,  it  seemed  to  her  suspicious  heart 
due  to  anticipation  of  what  had  been  hinted  by  him. 
She  considered  a  moment,  and  determined  to  have  the 
whole  matter  out,  and  to  dash  any  expectations  the 
girl  might  have  formed  at  once  and  for  ever.  A  direct 
woman  Mrs.  Verstage  had  ever  been. 

"  Matabel,"  she  said,  and  drew  her  lips  together  and 
contracted  her  brows,  "  whatever  father  may  scheme 


54  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

about  making  a  will,  it's  all  gammon  and  nonsense.  I 
don't  know  whether  he's  said  any  tomfoolery  about  it 
to  you,  or  may  do  so  in  time  to  come.  Don't  think 
nuthin'  of  it.  Why  should  he  make  a  will  ?  He  has 
but  Iver  to  whom  he  can  leave  what  he  has.  If  he 
don't  make  a  will — where's  the  odds  ?  The  law  will 
see  to  it ;  that  everything  goes  to  Iver,  just  as  it  ort." 

"You  will  write  to  Iver  to  come  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  will.  Matters  can't  be  worse  than  they  be, 
and  they  may  come  to  a  betterment.  O  dear  life  of 
me  !  What  I  have  suffered  all  these  years,  parted  from 
my  only  child." 

"  I  have  tried  to  do  what  I  could  for  you,  dear 
mother." 

"  Oh,  yes  " — the  bitterness  was  still  oozing  up  in  the 
woman's  heart,  engalling  her  own  mind — "  that  I  know 
well  enough.  But  then  you  ain't  my  flesh  and  blood. 
You  may  call  me  mother,  and  you  may  speak  of  Simon 
as  father,  but  that  don't  alter  matters,  no  more  nor 
when  Samuel  Doit  would  call  the  cabbage  plants 
broccaloes  did  it  make  'em  grow  great  flower  heads  like 
passon's  wigs.  Iver  is  my  son,  my  very  own  child. 
You,  Matabel,  are  only " 

"Only  what,  mother?" 

**  Only  a  charity  girl." 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  55 


CHAPTER  IX. 

BIDEABOUT. 

The  words  were  hardly  spoken  before  a  twinge  of 
conscience  made  Mrs.  Verstage  aware  that  she  had 
given  pain  to  the  girl  who  had  been  to  her  as  a 
daughter. 

Yet  she  justified  herself  to  herself  with  the  consider- 
ation that  it  was  in  the  end  kindest  to  cut  down 
ruthlessly  any  springing  expectation  that  might  have 
started  to  life  at  the  words  of  Simon  Verstage.  The 
hostess  cast  a  glance  at  Mehetabel,  and  saw  that  her 
face  was  quivering,  that  all  color  had  gone  out  of  her 
cheeks,  that  her  hands  were  contracted  as  with  the 
cramp. 

**  I  had  no  wish  to  hurt  you,"  said  the  landlady  ; 
"  but  facks  are  facks,  and  you  may  pull  down  the 
blinds  over  'em  wi'out  putting  them  out  o'  existence. 
There's  Laura  Tickner — got  a  face  like  a  peony.  She 
sez  it's  innade  modesty  ;  but  we  all  knows  it's  arry- 
sippelas,  and  Matthew  Maunder  tells  us  his  nose  comes 
from  indigestion  ;  but  it's  liquor,  as  I've  the  best  rea- 
son to  know.  Matabel,  I  love  you  well,  but  always 
face  facks.  You  can't  get  rid  of  facks  any  more  than 
you  can  get  rid  of  fleas  out  o'  poultry." 

Mrs.  Verstage  disappeared  through  the  doorway. 
Mehetabel  seated  herself  on  the  bench.  She  could  not 
follow  the  hostess,  for  her  limbs  trembled  and  threat- 
ened to  give  way. 

She  folded  her  arms  on  her  lap,  and  leaned  forward, 
with  her  eyes  on  the  ground. 

"  A  charity  girl !     Only  a  charity  girl !  " 

She  said  the  words  to  herself  again  and  again.  Her 
eyes  burnt  ;  a  spray  hung  on  her  eyelids.     Her  lips 


56  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

were  contracted  with  pain,  spasms  ran  through  her 
breast. 

"  Only  a  charity  girl !  She'd  never,  never  a'  sed  that 
had  she  loved  me.  She  don't."  Then  came  a  sob. 
Mehetabel  tried  to  check  it,  but  could  not,  and  the 
sound  of  that  sob  passed  through  the  house.  It  was 
followed  by  no  other. 

The  girl  recovered  herself,  leaned  back  against  the 
wall,  and  looked  at  the  twilight  sky. 

There  was  no  night  now.  The  season  was  near  mid- 
summer : — 

"  Bamaby  bright, 
All  day  and  no  night." 

Into  the  luminous  blue  sky  Mehetabel  looked  steadily, 
and  did  battle  with  her  own  self  in  her  heart. 

That  which  had  been  said  so  shortly  was  true ; 
had  it  been  wrapped  up  in  filagree — through  all  dis- 
guise the  solid  unpleasant  truth  would  remain  as  core. 
If  that  were  true,  then  why  should  she  be  so  stung  by 
the  few  words  that  contained  the  truth  ? 

It  was  not  the  words  that  had  hurt  her — she  had 
heard  them  often  at  school — it  was  that  "  Mother  " 
had  said  them.  It  was  the  way  in  which  they  had 
been  uttered. 

Mrs.  Verstage  had  ever  been  kind  to  the  girl ; 
more  affectionate  when  she  was  quite  a  child  than 
when  she  became  older.  Gradually  the  hostess  had 
come  to  use  her,  and  using  her  as  a  servant,  to  regard 
her  in  that  light. 

Susanna  Verstage  was  one  of  those  women  to  whom 
a  baby  is  almost  a  necessity,  certainly  a  prime  element 
of  happiness.  As  she  philosophically  put  it,  *'  Men 
likes  'baccy  ;  wimin  likes  babies  ;  they  was  made  so  ;  " 
but  the  passion  for  a  baby  was  doubly  strong  in  the 
heart  of  the  landlady.  As  long  as  Mehetabel  was  en- 
tirely dependent,  the  threads  that  held  her  to  the 
heart  of  the  hostess  were  very  strong,  and  very  many, 
but  so  soon  as  she  became  independent,  these  threads 
were  relaxed.  The  good  woman  had  a  blunt  and  per- 
emptory manner,  and  she  at  times  ruffled  the  girl  by 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  57 

sharpness  of  rebuke  ;  but  never  previously  had  she 
alluded  to  her  peculiar  position  and  circumstances  in 
such  a  galling  manner. 

Why  had  she  done  this  now  ?  Why  gone  out  of 
her  way  to  do  so  ? 

Mehetabel  thought  how  wonderful  it  was  that  she,  a 
stranger,  should  be  in  that  house,  treated  almost, 
though  not  wholly,  as  its  child,  whereas  the  son  of  the 
house  was  shut  out  from  it, — that  against  him  only 
was  the  door  fast,  which  was  held  open  with  invitation 
to  every  one  else. 

It  was  the  thought  of  this  contrast,  perhaps,  that  had 
been  working  in  Mrs.  Verstage's  mind,  and  had  pro- 
voked the  impatience  and  occasioned  the  cruel  words. 

"  Well,"  said  Mehetabel  to  herself,  "  I  must  face  it. 
I  have  only  the  name  that  Iver  gave  me  in  the  barn. 
I  have  no  father,  no  mother,  and  no  other  name  than 
that  which  I  am  given  in  charity."  She  looked  at  her 
gown.  "  I  owe  that  to  charity  ;  "  at  her  hands — "  My 
flesh  is  nourished  out  of  charity."  She  wiped  her  eyes 
— the  very  kerchief  was  a  gift  to  her  in  charity.  "It  is 
so,"  she  said.  "  I  must  bear  the  thought  and  get  ac- 
customed to  it.  I  was  given  a  name  in  charity,  and  in 
charity  my  father  was  granted  a  grave.  All  I  can  look 
to  as  in  some  fashion  my  own — and  yet  they  are  not 
my  own — be  the  headstone  in  the  churchyard  to  show 
how  my  real  father  was  killed,  and  the  gallows  on  Hind 
Head,  with  the  chains,  to  tell  where  those  hung  who 
killed  him.  'Tain't  every  one  can  show  that."  She 
raised  her  head  with  a  flash  of  pride.  Human  Nature 
must  find  something  on  which  to  plume  itself.  If 
nothing  else  can  be  found,  then  a  murdered  father  and 
a  gallows  for  the  murderers  served. 

Mehetabel  was  a  handsome  girl,  and  she  knew  it. 
She  could  not  fail  to  know  it,  situated  as  she  was.  The 
men  who  frequented  the  public  house  would  not  leave 
a  girl  long  in  doubt  whether  she  were  comely  or  the 
reverse. 

-  But  Mehetabel  made  small  account  of  her  appear- 
ance.    No  yOuth  of  the  neighborhood  had  won  his  way 


58  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

into  her  heart ;  and  she  blew  away  the  compliments 
lavished  upon  her  as  the  men  blew  away  the  froth  from 
their  tankards.  What  mattered  it  whether  she  were 
good-looking  or  not,  so  long  as  she  was  only  Meheta- 
bel,  without  a  surname,  without  kin,  without  a  penny  ! 

When  Iver  had  run  away  from  home  she  had  done 
all  that  lay  in  her  power  to  comfort  the  mother.  She 
had  relieved  the  landlady  of  half  of  her  work ;  she  had 
stayed  up  her  heart  when  downcast,  despondent.  She 
had  talked  with  her  of  the  absent  son,  whose  name  the 
father  would  not  allow  to  be  mentioned  in  his  hearing  ; 
had  encouraged  her  with  hopes,  and,  by  her  love,  had 
sought  to  compensate  for  the  loss. 

It  was  due  to  her  that  the  Ship  Inn  had  a  breath  of 
youth  and  cheerfulness  infused  into  it.  But  for  her, 
the  absence  and  indifference  of  the  host,  and  the  mo- 
roseness  of  the  disappointed  hostess,  would  have  driven 
custom  away. 

Mrs.  Verstage  had  found  her  useful,  even  necessary. 
She  could  hardly  endure  to  be  for  an  hour  without  her, 
and  she  had  come  to  rely  upon  her  more  and  more  in 
the  conduct  of  business,  especially  such  as  required 
sufficient  scholarship  to  do  correspondence  and  keep 
accounts. 

The  hostess  was  proud  of  the  girl's  beauty  and  en- 
gaging manner,  and  took  to  herself  some  of  the  credit 
of  having  her  adopted  daughter  regarded  as  the  belle 
of  Thursley.  She  was  pleased  to  see  that  the  men 
admired  her,  not  less  than  the  women  envied  her. 
There  was  selfishness  in  all  this.  Mrs.  Verstage's 
heart  was  without  sincerity.  She  had  loved  Meheta- 
bel  as  a  babe,  because  the  child  amused  her.  She  liked 
her  as  a  girl,  because  serviceable  to  her,  and  because  it 
flattered  her  vanity  to  think  that  her  adopted  daughter 
should  be  so  handsome. 

Now,  however,  that  the  suspicion  was  engendered 
that  her  own  son  might  be  set  aside  in  favor  of  the 
adopted  child,  through  Simon's  partiaHty,  at  once  her 
maternal  heart  took  the  alarm,  and  turned  against  the 
girl  in  resolution  to  protect  the  rights  of  Iver, 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  59 

Mehetabel  did  not  understand  the  workings  of  Su- 
sanna Verstage's  mind.  She  felt  that  the  regard 
entertained  for  her  was  troubled. 

She  had  heard  Simon  Verstage's  remark  about  con- 
stituting her  his  heir,  but  had  so  little  considered  it  as 
seriously  spoken,  and  as  embodying  a  resolution,  that 
it  did  not  now  occur  to  her  as  an  explanation  of  the 
altered  conduct  of  the  "  mother  "  towards  herself. 

Mehetabel  felt  instinctively  that  a  vein  of  truer  love 
throbbed  in  the  old  host  than  in  his  wife ;  and  now, 
with  a  hunger  for  some  word  of  kindness  after  the  re- 
buff she  had  sustained,  she  stood  up  and  walked  in  the 
direction  of  the  hayfield  to  meet  Simon  Verstage  on 
his  return  journey. 

As  she  stepped  along  she  heard  a  footfall  behind  her. 
The  step  was  quickened,  and  a  hand  was  laid  on  her 
shoulder.     She  turned,  and  exclaimed  sharply  : 

**  Bideabout — what  do  you  want  ?  '* 

"  You,  Matabel." 

A  man  stayed  her :  the  Broom-Squire. 

"  What  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say.** 

"  I  can  spare  you  a  minute,  not  more.  I  expect 
father.     He  has  gone  to  look  at  the  hay." 

Mehetabel  disengaged  her  shoulder  from  his  grasp. 
She  stepped  back.  She  had  no  liking  for  the  Broom- 
Squire.  Indeed,  he  inspired  her  with  a  faint,  undefined 
repugnance. 

Jonas  was  now  a  middle-aged  man,  still  occupying 
his  farm  in  the  Punch-Bowl,  making  brooms,  selling 
holly,  cultivating  his  patch  of  land,  laying  by  money 
and  still  a  bachelor. 

He  had  rounded  shoulders  and  a  short  neck ;  this 
made  him  thrust  his  head  forward  in  a  peering  man- 
ner, like  a  beast  of  prey  watching  for  a  victim.  His 
eyes  were  keen  and  restless.  His  hair  was  short-cut, 
and  his  ears  projected  from  the  sides  of  his  head  like 
those  of  a  bat.  Otherwise  he  was  not  a  bad-looking 
man.  His  features  were  good,  but  his  expression  was 
unpleasant.     The  thin  lip  was  curled  contemptuously ; 


6o  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

and  he  had  a  trick  of  thrusting  forth  his  sharp  tongue 
to  wet  his  Hps  before  making  a  spiteful  remark. 

He  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  Ship,  and  indeed  his 
incHnation  for  Hquor  was  his  one  weakness. 

Of  late  he  had  been  much  oftener  at  this  inn  than 
formerly.  Latterly  he  had  been  profuse  in  his  com- 
pliments to  Mehetabel,  which  she  had  put  aside,  much 
as  she  brushed  empty  tankards,  and  tobacco  ash  off 
the  table.  He  was  no  welcome  guest.  His  bitter 
tongue  was  the  occasion  of  strife,  and  a  brawl  was  no 
infrequent  result  of  the  appearance  of  the  Broom- 
Squire  in  the  public  house.  Sometimes  he  himself  be- 
came the  object  of  attack,  but  usually  he  succeeded  in 
setting  others  by  the  ears  and  in  himself  escaping  un- 
molested. But  on  one  of  the  former  occasions  he  had 
lost  two  front  teeth,  and  through  the  gap  thus  formed 
he  was  wont  to  thrust  his  tongue. 

'*  I  am  glad  to  have  caught  you,"  said  the  Broom- 
Squire  ;  *'  and  caught  you  alone — it  is  hard  to  find  you 
so — as  it's  hard  to  find  a  treacle  cask  without  flies 
round  it." 

"  What  have  you  to  say  ?  " 

"  You  have  always  slipped  out  of  my  way  when  I 
thought  I  had  you." 

"  I  did  not  know  that  you  had  a  fancy  to  catch  me 
alone."     She  made  as  if  to  proceed  on  her  course. 

*' Stand  still,"  said  he  imperiously.  ''It  must  come 
out.  Do  not  look  at  me  with  that  keep-your-distance 
air.  I  mean  no  incivility.  I  care  a  deal  more  for  you 
than  for  any  one  else." 

"  That  is  not  saying  much." 

"  I  care  for  you  alone  in  all  the  world." 

"  Except  yourself." 

"  Of  course." 

He  breathed  as  though  relieved  of  a  burden. 

"  Look  here,  Mehetabel,  I've  not  been  a  marrying 
man.  Wife  and  family  cost  too  much.  I've  been  sav- 
ing and  not  spending.  But  this  can't  go  on  forever. 
All  good  things  come  to  an  end  some  time.  It  has 
come  to  this.     I    must,  have  a  woman  to  mind  the 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  6i 

house.  My  sister  and  I  have  had  a  tiff.  You  know 
her,  Sarah  Rocliffe.  She  won't  do  as  I  like,  and  what 
I  want.  So  I'll  just  shut  the  door  in  her  face  and 
make  a  long  nose  at  her,  and  say,  *  Got  some  one  else 
now.' '' 

"  So,"  exclaimed  Mehetabel,  the  color  rushing  to 
her  cheeks  in  anger,  "  you  want  me  as  your  house- 
keeper that  you  may  make  a  nose  at  your  sister  and 
deny  her  the  house." 

"  I  won't  have  any  other  woman  in  my  house  but 
yourself." 

"  You  will  have  to  wait  a  long  time  before  you  get 
me. 

"  I  mean  all  fair  and  honorable,"  said  Jonas.  "  I 
didn't  say  housekeeper,  did  I  ?  I  say  wife.  If  any 
chap  had  said  to  me,  *  Bideabout,  you  are  putting  your 
feet  into  a  rabbit  net,  and  will  be  caught,  and —  * " 
he  made  a  sign  as  if  knocking  a  rabbit's  neck  to  kill  it 
— "  I  say,  had  any  one  said  that,  I'd  a'  laughed  at  him 
as  a  fool." 

*'  You  may  laugh  at  him  still,"  said  the  girl.  "  No 
one  that  I  know  has  set  any  net  for  you." 

"  You  have,"  he  sniggered.     "  Aye,  and  caught  me." 

"  I !  "  laughed  Mehetabel  contemptuously,  *'  I  spread 
a  net  for  you  ?  It  is  you  who  pursue  and  pester  me. 
I  never  gave  you  a  thought  save  how  to  make  you 
keep  at  arm's  length." 

"  You  say  that  to  me."     His  color  went. 

*'  It  is  ridiculous,  it  is  insulting  of  you  to  speak  to 
me  of  netting  and  catching.  What  do  I  want  of  you 
save  to  be  let  go  my  way." 

"  Come,  Mehetabel,"  said  the  Broom-Squire  caress- 
ingly, "  we  won't  quarrel  about  words.  I  didn't 
mean  what  you  have  put  on  me.  I  want  you  to  come 
and  be  my  wife.  It  isn't  only  that  I've  had  a  quarrel 
with  my  sister.  There's  more  than  that.  There  is 
something  like  a  stoat  at  my  heart,  biting  there,  and  I 
have  no  rest  till  you  say —  *  I'll  have  you,  Jonas  ! '" 

**  The  stoat  must  hang  on.     I  can't  say  that." 

"Why  not?" 


62  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

"  I  am  not  obliged  to  give  a  reason/* 

"  Will  you  not  have  me  ?  " 

"  No,  Bideabout,  I  will  not.  How  can  I  take  an 
offer  made  in  this  way  ?  When  you  ask  me  to  enable 
you  to  be  rude  to  your  sister,  when  you  speak  of  me  as 
laying  traps  for  you  ;  and  when  you  stay  me  on  my 
road  as  if  you  were  a  footpad." 

Again  she  made  an  attempt  to  go  in  the  direction  of 
the  hayfield.  Her  bosom  was  heaving  with  anger,  her 
nostrils  were  quivering. 

Again  he  arrested  her. 

"  If  you  will  not  let  me  go,"  said  she,  "  I  will  call  for 
help.     Here  comes  father.     He  shall  protect  me." 

"  I'll  have  you  yet,"  said  the  Broom-Squire  with  a 
sneer.  "  If  it  ain't  you  that  nets  me,  then  it'll  be  I 
net  you,  Mehetabel." 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  6$ 


CHAPTER  X. 
INTO  THE  NET. 

**  We  must  have  cake  and  ale  for  the  hayfield,"  said 
Mrs.  Verstage.  '*  Of  ale  there  be  plenty  in  the  house, 
but  for  cake,  I  must  bake.  It  ort  to  ha'  been  done 
afore.  Fresh  cakes  goes  twice  as  fast  as  stale,  but 
blessin's  on  us,  the  weather  have  been  that  changeable 
I  didn't  know  but  I  might  put  it  off  to  anywhen." 

This  was  said  on  the  morrow  of  the  occurrence  just 
described. 

Whilst  Mrs.  Verstage  was  engaged  in  the  baking  she 
had  not  time  for  much  talk,  but  she  asked  abruptly : 
"  What's  that  as  to  Bideabout  ?  Father  said  he'd 
come  on  you  and  him,  and  you  was  both  in  a  sort 
o'  take  on." 

Mehetabel  had  no  reason  for  reticence,  and  she  told 
the  hostess  of  the  suit  of  the  Broom-Squire,  and  of  the 
manner  in  which  he  made  his  proposal.  Mrs.  Verstage 
said  nothing  at  the  time.  She  was  occupied — too  occu- 
pied for  comments.  But  when  the  cake  was  in  the 
oven,  she  seated  herself  at  the  kitchen  table,  with  a  sigh 
of  relief,  and  beckoned  to  Mehetabel  to  do  the  same. 

Mrs.  Verstage  was  warm,  both  on  account  of  the 
heat  of  the  morning,  but  also  because  she  had  been 
hard  at  work.  She  fanned  herself  with  a  dish,  and  as 
she  did  so  looked  at  the  girl. 

"  So — the  Broom-Squire  offered  himself,  did  he  ?" 

Mehetabel  made  a  sign  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Well,**  continued  the  hostess,  "  if  he  weren't  so 
good  a  customer  here  he  would  be  suitable  enough. 
But  yet  a  good  wife  will  soon  cure  him.  A  hudger 
(bachelor)  does  things  as  a  married  man  don't  allow 
himself." 

Mehetabel  looked   questioningly   at   the  landlady. 


64  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

She  said :  **  There  must  be  good  stuff  in  a  man,  or 
marriage  won't  bring  it  out." 

**Who  says  there  ain't  good  stuff  in  Bideabout?" 

"  I  have  never  seen  the  glint  of  it." 

'*  You  don't  see  the  iron  ore  as  lies  under  the  sand, 
but  there  it  is,  and  when  wanted  it  can  be  worked.  I 
like  a  man  to  show  his  wust  side  forefront.  There's 
many  a  man's  character  is  like  his  wesket,  red  plush 
and  flowers  in  front  and  calico  in  rags  behind  hid  away 
under  his  coat." 

Mehetabel  was  surprised,  troubled.  She  made  no 
response,  but  color  drifted  across  her  face. 

**  After  all,"  pursued  Mrs.  Verstage,  "  he  may  ha' 
come  here  not  after  liquor,  but  drawed  by  you.  Then 
you  see  he's  been  alone  all  these  years,  and  scriptur' 
saith  it  ain't  good  for  a  man  to  be  that.  They  goes 
sour  and  mouldy — men  do  if  unmarried.  I  think  you'd 
be  fulfillin'  your  dooty,  and  actin'  accordin'  to  the 
word  o'  God  if  you  took  him." 

"  I— mother !  I  !  "  The  girl  shrank  back.  "  Mother, 
let  him  take  some  one  else.     I  don't  want  him." 

"  But  he  wants  you,  and  he  don't  want  another. 
Matabel,  it's  all  moonshine  about  leap  year.  The  time 
never  comes  when  the  woman  can  ax  the  man.  It's 
tother  way  up — and  Providence  made  it  so.  Bideabout 
has  a  good  bit  o'  land,  for  which  he  is  his  own  land- 
lord, he  has  money  laid  by,  so  folks  tell.  You  might 
do  worse.  It's  a  great  complerment  he's  paid  you. 
You  see  he's  well  off,  and  you  have  nothin'.  Men  gen- 
erally, nowadays,  look  out  for  wives  that  have  a  bit  o' 
money  to  help  buy  a  field,  or  a  cow,  or  nothin'  more 
than  a  hog.  You  see  Bideabout's  above  that  sort  o' 
thing.  If  you  can't  have  butter  to  your  bread,  you 
must  put  up  wi'  drippin'." 

"  I'm  not  going  to  take  Bideabout,"  said  Mehetabel. 

"  I  don't  say  you  should.  But  he  couldn't  a  took  a 
fancy  to  you  wi'out  Providence  ordainin'  of  it." 

''And  if  I  don't  like  him,"  threw  in  the  girl,  half 
angry,  half  in  tears,  "  I  suppose  that  is  the  doings  of 
Providence  too  ?  " 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  65 

Mrs.  Verstage  evaded  a  reply  to  this.  She  said  :  "  I 
do  not  press  you  to  take  him.  You  are  kindly  welcome 
to  stay  on  with  us  a  bit,  till  you've  looked  about  you 
and  found  another.  We  took  you  up  as  a  babe  and 
cared  for  you  ;  but  the  parish  allowance  was  stopped 
when  you  was  fourteen.  It  shan't  be  said  of  us  that  bare 
we  took  you  in  and  bare  we  turn  you  out.  But  marry 
you  must.  It's  ordained  o'  nature.  There's  the  dif- 
ference atwixt  a  slug  and  a  snail.  The  snail's  got  her 
own  house  to  go  into.  A  slug  hasn't.  When  she's  un- 
comfortable she  must  go  underground." 

The  hostess  was  silent  for  awhile.  Mehetabel  said 
nothing.     Her  cheeks  burned.     She  was  choking. 

Mrs.  Verstage  went  on  :  "  There  was  Betsy  Purvis — 
she  was  a  bit  of  a  beauty,  and  gave  herself  airs.  She 
wouldn't  have  Farmer  James,  as  his  legs  was  so  long, 
he  looked  like  a  spider — and  she  wouldn't  have  Odger 
Kay,  as  his  was  too  short — he  looked  like  a  dachs- 
dog.  It  came  in  the  end  she  married  Purvis,  who  had 
both  his  legs  shot  off  in  the  wars,  'cos  and  why.'* 
she  couldn't  get  another.  She'd  been  too  finical  in 
choosin'." 

"  Are  you  tired  of  me  ?  "  gasped  the  girl.  "  Do  you 
wish  to  be  rid  of  me  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  answered  the  landlady.  "  It's  becos 
we're  so  fond  of  you,  father  and  I,  that  we  want  to  see 
you  well  settled." 

"  And  father — does  he  wish  me  to  take  Bideabout  ?  " 

Mrs.  Verstage  hesitated. 

^'  He  hasn't  said  that  right  out.  You  see  he  didn't 
know  for  certain  Jonas  were  hoppin'  about  you.  But 
he'd  be  tremendous  pleased  to  have  you  well  married." 

"  And  you  think  I  should  be  well  married  if  I  became 
Bideabout's  wife?  " 

"  Of  course.  He's  a  great  catch  for  the  likes  of 
you,  who  belong  to  nobody  and  to  no  place,  properly. 
Beggars  mustn't  be  choosers." 

Mehetabel  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  It  is  so.  I  am  a  beggar,  I  am  only  a  charity  girl, 
nothing  else." 

5 


65  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

She  struck  her  head  against  the  wall.  "  Let  me  beat 
my  brains  out  if  I  am  in  your  way.  Why  should  I  be 
thrown  into  the  arms  of  any  passer-by?" 

**  You  misjudge  and  misunderstand  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Verstage,  hotly.  "  Because  you  have  been  with  me  so 
long,  and  because  I  love  you,  I  want  to  see  you  set- 
tled. Because  I  can't  give  you  a  prince  in  spangles 
and  feathers  you  fly  out  against  me." 

*'  I  don't  ask  for  a  prince,  only  to  be  let  alone.  I  am 
happy  here,  as  a  girl,  working  for  you  and  father." 

"  But  we  shall  not  live  forever.  We  are  growing 
old,  and  shall  have  to  give  up.  Iver  may  return  any  day, 
and  then " 

The  hostess  became  crimson  to  the  temples ;  she 
knew  how  handsome  the  girl  was,  doubly  handsome 
she  seemed  now,  in  her  heat  and  agitation,  and  it  oc- 
curred to  Mrs.  Verstage  that  Iver,  with  his  artistic  ap- 
preciation of  the  beautiful,  might  also  think  her  hand- 
some, that  the  old  childish  fancy  for  each  other  might 
spring  to  new  and  to  stronger  life,  and  that  he  might 
even  think  of  Mehetabel  as  a  wife.  That  v/ould  never, 
never  do.  For  Iver  something  better  must  be  found 
than  a  girl  without  means,  friends,  and  name. 

"  What  then  ?  "  asked  Mehetabel.  "  Suppose  Iver 
do  come  here  and  keep  the  inn.  I  can  go  with  you 
wherever  you  go,  and  if  you  become  old,  I  can  attend 
to  you  in  your  old  age." 

"  You  are  good,"  said  Mrs.  Verstage ;  but  although 
her  words  were  gracious,  her  manner  was  chilling.  *'  It 
is  for  us  to  think  of  you  and  your  future,  not  you  to 
consider  for  us.     The  Broom-Squire " 

"  I  tell  you,  mother,  I  don't  like  him." 

"You  must  hear  me  out.  You  do  not  love  him. 
Lawk-a-jimmeny !  we  can't  all  marry  for  love.  You 
don't  suppose  I  was  in  love  with  Simon  when  I  took 
him  ?  I  was  a  good-looking  wench  in  my  day,  and  I 
had  many  admirers,  and  were  more  of  tragedy-kings 
than  Simon.  But  I  had  sense,  and  I  took  him  for  the 
sake  of  the  Ship  Inn  and  the  farm.  We  have  lived 
happy  together,  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that  matter 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  67 

of  Iver,  there'd  not  ha'  been  a  cloud  between  us.  Love 
grows  among  married  folk,  like  chickweed  in  a  garden. 
You  can't  keep  it  out.  It  is  thick  everywhere,  and  is 
never  out  o'  season.  I  don't  say  there  ain't  a  ripping 
of  it  out  one  day — but  it  comes  agairt,  twice  as  thick 
on  the  morrow,  and  much  good  it  does  !  I  don't  think 
I  cared  for  Simon  when  I  took  him  any  more  than  you 
care  for  Jonas,  but  I  took  him,  and  we've  fared  well 
enough  together."  After  a  pause  the  hostess  said, 
"  Talkin'  of  marriage,  I  have  a  fine  scheme  in  my  head. 
If  Iver  comes  back,  as  I  trust  he  will,  I  want  him  to 
marry  Polly  Colpus." 

"  Polly  Colpus,  mother !  " 

"  She's  James  Colpus's  only  child,  and  will  come  in 
for  money.  James  Colpus  is  a  wonderful  thrivin' 
man." 

"  But  she  has  a  moustache." 

"  What  of  that,  if  she  have  money  ?  " 

"  But — Iver — if  he  couldn't  bear  an  ugly  signboard 
to  the  house,  will  he  relish  an  ugly  figure-head  to  his 
wife  within  it  ?  " 

"  She  has  gold  which  will  gild  her  moustache." 

*'  I  don't  know,"  said  Mehetabel ;  "  Iver  wouldn't 
take  the  business  at  his  father's  wish,  will  he  take  a 
wife  of  his  mother's  providing?  " 

*'  He  will  know  which  side  his  bread  is  buttered 
better  than  some  persons  I  could  name." 

**  I  fancy  when  folk  look  out  for  wives,  they  don't 
borrow  their  mother's  eyes." 

"You  cross  me  in  everything  to-day,"  said  the 
hostess,  peevishly. 

Mehetabel's  tears  began  to  flow. 

Mrs.  Verstage  was  a  woman  who  did  not  need  much 
time  or  much  balancing  to  arrive  at  a  determination, 
and  when  she  had  formed  her  resolution,  she  clung  to 
it  with  the  same  tenacity  as  her  husband  did  to  his. 

Her  maternal  jealousy  had  been  roused,  and  the 
maternal  instinct  is  the  strongest  that  exists  in  the 
female  nature.  Many  a  woman  would  allow  herself  to 
be  cut  to  bits  for  her  child.     But  not  only  will  she 


68  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

sacrifice  herself  without  hesitation,  but  also  any  one 
else  who  in  any  way  hinders  the  progress  of  her  schemes 
for  the  welfare  of  her  child.  Mrs.  Verstage  entertained 
affection  for  the  girl,  an  affection  very  real,  yet  not  to 
the  extent  of  allowing  it  to  blind  her  to  the  true  in- 
terests of  her  own  son.  She  was  roused  to  jealousy 
by  the  partiality  of  Simon  for  his  adopted  daughter, 
to  the  prejudice  of  Iver.  And  now  she  was  gravely 
alarmed  lest  on  the  return  of  Iver,  the  young  affection 
of  the  two  children  for  each  other  should  take  a  new 
spell  of  life,  assume  a  new  form,  and  intensify  into 
passion. 

Accordingly  she  was  resolved,  if  possible,  to  remove 
the  girl  from  the  Ship  before  the  arrival  of  Iver.  The 
proposal  of  the  Broom-Squire  was  opportune,  and  she 
was  anxious  to  forward  his  suit  as  the  best  means  for 
raising  an  insuperable  barrier  between  her  son  and  the 
girl,  as  well  as  removing  her  from  Simon,  who,  with  his 
characteristic  wrong-headedness,  might  actually  do  what 
he  had  proposed. 

"  I  don't  see  what  you're  crying  about,"  said  Mrs. 
Verstage,  testily.  **  It  ain't  no  matter  to  you  whether 
Iver  takes  Polly  Colpus  or  a  Royal  Princess." 

"  I  don't  want  him  to  be  worried,  mother,  when  he 
comes  home  with  having  ugly  girls  rammed  down  his 
throat.     If  you  begin  that  with  him  he'll  be  off  again." 

"  Oh  !  you  know  that,  do  you  ?  " 

*'I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  I  know  what  this  means  !  "  exclaimed  the  angry 
woman,  losing  all  command  over  her  tongue.  "  It 
means,  in  plain  English,  just  this — *  I'm  going  to  try,  by 
hook  or  by  crook,  to  get  Iver  for  myself.'  That's 
what  you're  driving  at,  hussy !  But  I'll  put  you  by 
the  shoulders  out  of  the  door,  or  ever  Iver  comes,  that 
you  may  be  at  none  of  them  tricks.  Do  you  think 
that  because  he  baptized  you,  that  he'll  also  marry 
jrou?" 

Mehetabel  sprang  through  the  door  with  a  cry  of 
■pain,  of  wounded  pride,  of  resentment  at  the  injustice 
wherewith  she  was  treated,  of  love  in  recoil,  and  almost 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  69 

ran  against  the  Broom-Squire.  Almost  without  power 
to  think,  certainly  without  power  to  judge,  fevered 
with  passion  to  be  away  out  of  a  house  where  she  was 
so  misjudged,  she  gasped,  "  Bideabout !  will  you  have 
me  now — even  now.     Mother  turns  m'e  out  of  doors." 

'*  Have  you  ?  To  be  sure  I  will,"  said  Jonas  ;  then 
with  a  laugh  out  of  the  side  of  his  mouth,  he  added 
in  an  undertone,  "  Don't  seem  to  want  that  I  should 
set  a  net ;  she  runs  right  into  my  hands.  Wimen  is 
wimen ! " 


70  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A  SURNAME  AT  LAST. 

When  Simon  Verstage  learned  that  Mehetabel  was 
to  be  married  to  the  Broom-Squire,  he  was  not  lightly 
troubled.  He  loved  the  girl  more  dearly  than  he  was 
himself  aware.  He  was  accustomed  to  see  her  about 
the  house,  to  hear  her  cheerful  voice,  and  to  be  wel- 
comed with  a  pleasant  smile  when  he  returned  from 
the  fields.  There  was  constitutional  ungraciousness  in 
his  wife.  She  considered  it  lowering  to  her  dignity, 
or  unnecessary,  to  put  on  an  amiable  face,  and  testify 
to  him  pleasure  at  his  presence.  Little  courtesies  are 
dear  to  the  hearts  of  the  most  rugged  men  ;  Simon 
received  them  from  Mehetabel,  and  valued  them  all 
the  more  because  withheld  from  him  by  his  wife.  The 
girl  had  known  how  to  soothe  him  when  ruffled,  she 
had  forestalled  many  of  his  little  requirements,  and  had 
exercised  a  moderating  influence  in  the  house.  Mrs. 
Verstage,  in  her  rough,  imperious  fashion,  had  not 
humored  him,  and  many  a  domestic  storm  was  allayed 
by  the  tact  of  Mehetabel. 

Simon  had  never  been  demonstrative  in  his  affection, 
and  it  was  only  now,  when  he  was  about  to  lose  her, 
that  he  became  aware  how  dear  she  was  to  his  old  heart. 
But  what  could  he  do,  now  that  she  had  given  herself 
to  Jonas  Kink  ?  Of  the  manner  in  which  this  had  been 
brought  about  he  knew  nothing.  Had  he  been  told 
he  would  have  stormed,  and  insisted  on  the  engage- 
ment coming  to  an  end.  But  would  this  have  mended 
matters?  Would  it  not  have  made  Mehetabel's  posi- 
tion in  the  house  only  more  insupportable? 

He  remained  silent  and  depressed  for  a  week,  and 
when  the  girl  was  in  the  room  followed  her  with  his 
eyes,  with  a  kindly,  regretful  light  in   them.     When 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  71 

she  passed  near  him,  he  held  out  his  hand,  took  hers, 
squeezed  it,  and  said,  "  Matabel,  we  shall  miss  you — 
wun'erful — wun'erful !  '* 

**  Dear  father !  **  she  would  answer,  and  return  the 
pressure  of  his  hand,  whilst  her  eyes  filled. 

"  I  hope  you'll  be  happy,"  he  would  say  ;  then  add, 
"  I  suppose  you  will.  Mother  says  so,  and  wimen 
knows  about  them  sort  o'  things  better  nor  we." 

To  his  wife  Simon  said,  "  Spare  nothing.  Give  her 
a  good  outfit,  just  as  if  she  was  our  own  daughter. 
She  has  been  a  faithful  child,  and  has  saved  us  the 
expense  and  worrit  of  a  servant,  and  I  will  not  have  it 
said — but  hang  it!  what  odds  to  me  what  is  said?  I 
will  not  have  her  feel  that  we  begrudge  her  aught. 
She  has  no  father  and  mother  other  than  we,  and  we 
must  be  to  her  all  that  we  can." 

"  Leave  that  to  me,"  said  the  wife. 

Mainly  through  the  instrumentality  of  Mrs.  Verstage 
the  marriage  was  hastened  on ;  it  was  to  be  as  soon  as 
the  banns  had  been  called  thrice. 

"  Wot's  the  good  o'  waitin'  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Verstage, 
"  where  all  is  pleasant  all  round,  and  all  agreed?" 

Mehetabel  was  indifferent,  even  disposed  to  have  the 
wedding  speedily,  there  was  no  advantage  in  postpon- 
ing the  inevitable.  If  she  were  not  wanted  in  the 
Ship,  her  presence  was  desired  in  the  Punch-Bowl,  if 
not  by  all  the  squatters  there,  at  all  events  by  the  one 
most  concerned. 

She  felt  oppression  in  the  house  in  which  she  had 
been  at  home  from  infancy,  and  was  even  conscious 
that  her  adopted  mother  was  impatient  to  be  rid  of  her. 
Mehetabel  was  proud,  too  proud  to  withdraw  from  her 
engagement,  to  acknowledge  that  she  had  rushed  into 
it  without  consideration,  and  had  accepted  a  man 
whom  she  did  not  love.  Too  proud,  in  fine,  to  con- 
tinue one  day  longer  than  need  be,  eating  the  bread  of 
charity. 

Seamstresses  were  summoned,  and  every  preparation 
made  that  Mehetabel  should  have  abundance  of  cloth- 
ing when  she  left  the  Ship. 


72  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

"  Look  here,  Susanna,"  said  Simon,  "  you'll  have 
made  a  pocket  in  them  gownds,  you  mind." 

"  Yes,  Simon,  of  course." 

"  Becos  I  means  to  put  a  little  purse  in  for  Matabel 
when  she  goes  from  us — somethin'  to  be  her  own.  I 
won't  have  the  little  wench  think  we  han't  provided 
for  her." 

"  How  much  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Verstage,  jealously. 

"  That  I'm  just  about  considerin',"  answered  the  old 
man  cautiously. 

"  Don't  you  do  nothin'  reckless  and  unraysonable, 
Simon.  What  will  she  want  wi'  money  ?  Hasn't  she 
got  the  Broom-Squire  to  pay  for  all  and  everything?" 

During  the  three  weeks  that  intervened  between  the 
precipitate  and  ill-considered  engagement  and  the  mar- 
riage, Mehetabel  hardly  came  to  her  senses.  Some- 
times when  occupied  with  her  work  in  the  house  a 
qualm  of  horror  came  over  her  and  curdled  the  blood 
in  her  heart ;  then  with  a  cold  sweat  suffusing  her 
brow,  and  with  pale  lips,  she  sank  on  a  stool,  held  her 
head  between  her  palms,  and  fought  with  the  thoughts 
that  rose  like  spectres,  and  with  the  despair  that  rolled 
in  on  her  soul  like  a  dark  and  icy  tide.  The  words 
spoken  by  the  hostess  had  made  it  impossible  for  her 
to  retrace  her  steps.  She  could  not  understand  what 
had  come  over  Mrs.  Verstage  to  induce  her  to  address 
her  as  she  had.  The  after  conduct  of  the  hostess  was 
such  as  showed  her  that  although  wishing  her  well  she 
wished  her  away,  and  that  though  having  a  kindly 
feeling  towards  her,  she  would  not  admit  a  renewal  of 
former  relations.  They  might  continue  friends,  but 
only  on  condition  of  being  friends  at  a  distance. 
Mehetabel  racked  her  brain  to  find  in  what  manner 
she  had  given  offence  to  the  old  woman,  and  could 
find  none.  She  was  thrust  from  the  only  bosom  to 
which  she  had  clung  from  infancy,  without  a  reason 
that  she  could  discover.  Meanwhile  she  drew  no 
nearer  to  Bideabout.  He  was  delighted  at  his  success, 
and  laid  aside  for  a  while  his  bitterness  of  speech.  But 
she  did  not  admit  him  to  nearer  intimacy.     His  at- 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  j^ 

tempts  at  familiarity  met  with  a  chilling  reception  ;  the 
girl  had  to  exercise  self-restraint  to  prevent  the  repug- 
nance with  which  she  received  his  addresses  from  be- 
coming obvious  to  him  and  others. 

Happily  for  her  peace  of  mind,  tie  was  a  good 
deal  away,  engaged  in  getting  his  house  into  order. 
It  needed  clearing  out,  cleansing  and  repairing.  No 
money  had  been  expended  on  dilapidations,  very 
little  soap  and  water  on  purification,  since  his  mother's 
death. 

His  sister,  Mrs.  RoclifTe,  some  years  older  than  him- 
self, living  but  a  few  yards  distant,  had  done  for  him 
what  was  absolutely  necessary,  and  what  he  had  been 
unable  to  do  for  himself  ;  but  her  interest  had  naturally 
been  in  her  own  house,  not  in  his. 

Now  that  he  announced  to  her  that  he  was  about  to 
marry,  Sarah  Rocliffe  was  angry.  She  had  made  up 
her  mind  that  Jonas  would  continue  a  "  hudger,"  and 
that  his  house  and  land  would  fall  to  her  son,  after 
his  demise.  This  was  perhaps  an  unreasonable  ex- 
pectation, especially  as  her  own  conduct  had  pre- 
cipitated the  engagement ;  but  it  was  natural.  She 
partook  of  the  surly  disposition  of  her  brother.  She 
could  not  exist  without  somebody  or  something  to 
fall  out  with,  to  scold,  to  find  fault  with.  Her  inces- 
sant recrimination  had  at  length  aroused  in  Jonas  the 
resolve  to  cast  her  wholly  from  his  dwelling,  to  have 
a  wife  of  his  own,  and  to  be  independent  of  her  service. 

Sarah  Rocliffe  ascertained  that  she  had  overstepped 
the  mark  in  quarrelling  with  her  brother,  but  instead 
of  blaming  herself  she  turned  the  fault  on  the  head  of 
the  inoffensive  girl  who  was  to  supplant  her.  She  re- 
solved not  to  welcome  her  sister-in-law  with  even  a 
semblance  of  cordiality. 

Nor  were  the  other  colonists  of  the  Bowl  favorably 
disposed.  It  was  a  tradition  among  them  that  they 
should  inter-marry.  This  rule  had  once  been  broken 
through  with  disastrous  results.  The  story  shall  be 
told  presently. 

The  squatter  families  of  the  Punch-Bowl  hung  to- 


74  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

gether,  and  when  Sarah  RocHffe  took  it  in  dudgeon 
that  her  brother  was  going  to  marry,  then  the  entire 
colony  of  Rocliffes,  Boxalls,  Nashes,  and  Snellings 
adopted  her  view  of  the  case,  and  resented  the  en- 
gagement as  though  it  were  a  slight  cast  on  them. 

As  if  the  Bowl  could  not  have  provided  him  with  a 
mate  meet  for  him  !  Were  there  no  good  wenches  to 
be  found  there,  that  he  must  go  over  the  lips  to  look 
for  a  wife  ?  The  girls  within  the  Bowl,  thanks  be, 
had  all  surnames  and  kindred.     Matabel  had  neither. 

It  was  not  long  before  Bideabout  saw  that  his  en- 
gagement to  Mehetabel  was  viewed  with  disfavor  by 
his  immediate  neighbors,  but  he  was  not  the  man  to 
concern  himself  about  their  opinions.  He  threw  about 
his  jibes,  which  did  not  tend  to  make  matters  better. 
The  boys  in  the  Bowl  had  concocted  a  jingle  which 
they  sang  under  his  window,  or  cast  at  him  from  be- 
hind a  hedge,  and  then  ran  away  lest  he  should  fall  on 
them  with  a  stick.     This  was  their  rhyme  : — 

"  A  harnet  lived  in  an  'oUow  tree, 
A  proper  spiteful  twoad  were  he. 
And  he  said  as  married  and  'appy  he'd  be ; 
But  all  folks  jeered  and  laughed  he-he !  " 

Mehetabel's  cheeks  were  pale,  and  her  brows  were 
contracted  and  her  lips  set  as  she  went  to  Thursley 
Church  on  the  wedding-day,  accompanied  by  Mrs. 
Verstage  and  some  village  friends. 

Gladly  would  she  have  elected  to  have  her  marriage 
performed  as  quietly  as  possible,  and  at  an  hour  and 
on  a  day  to  which  none  were  privy  save  those  most  im- 
mediately concerned.  But  this  did  not  suit  the  pride 
of  the  hostess,  who  was  resolved  on  making  a  demon- 
stration, of  getting  to  herself  the  credit  of  having  acted 
a  generous  and  even  lavish  part  towards  the  adopted 
child. 

Mehetabel  held  up  her  head,  not  with  pride,  but  with 
resolution  not  to  give  way.  Her  brain  was  stunned. 
Thought  would  no  more  flow  in  it  than  veins  of  water 
through  a  frozen  soil.  All  the  shapes  of  human  beings 
that  passed  and  circled  around  her  were  as  phantasms. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  75 

In  church  she  hardly  gathered  her  senses  to  know 
when  and  what  to  respond. 

She  could  scarcely  see  the  register  through  the  mist 
that  had  formed  over  her  eyes  when  she  was  required 
to  sign  her  Christian  name,  or  collect'her  thoughts  to 
understand  the  perplexity  of  the  parson,  as  to  how  to 
enter  her,  when  she  was  without  a  surname. 

When  congratulated  with  effusion  by  Mrs.  Verstage, 
with  courtesy  by  the  Vicar,  and  boisterously  by  the 
boys  and  girls  who  were  present,  she  tried  to  force  a 
smile,  but  ineffectually,  as  her  features  were  set  in- 
flexibly. 

The  bridegroom  kissed  her  cheek.  She  drew  back 
as  if  she  had  been  stung,  as  a  sensitive  plant  shrinks 
from  the  hand  that  grasps  it. 

The  previous  day  had  been  one  of  rain,  so  also  had 
been  the  night,  with  a  patter  of  raindrops  on  the  roof 
above  Mehetabel's  attic  chamber,  and  a  flow  of  tears 
beneath. 

During  the  morning,  on  the  way  to  church,  though 
there  had  been  no  rain,  yet  the  clouds  had  hung  low, 
and  were  threatening. 

They  separated  and  were  brushed  aside  as  the  wed- 
ding party  issued  from  the  porch,  and  then  a  flood  of 
scorching  sunlight  fell  over  the  bride  and  bridegroom. 
For  the  first  time  Mehetabel  raised  her  head  and  looked 
up.  The  impulse  was  unconscious — it  was  to  let  light 
shine  into  her  eyes  and  down  into  the  dark,  despairing 
chambers  of  her  soul  filled  only  with  tears. 

The  villagers  in  the  churchyard  murmured  admira- 
tion ;  as  she  issued  from  the  gates  they  cheered. 

Bideabout  was  elate  ;  he  was  proud  to  know  that 
the  handsomest  girl  in  the  neighborhood  was  now  his. 
It  was  rare  for  a  sarcastic  curl  to  leave  his  lips  and  the 
furrow  to  be  smoothed  on  his  brow.  Such  a  rare  oc- 
casion was  the  present.  And  the  Broom-Squire  had 
indeed  secured  one  in  whom  his  pride  was  justifiable. 

No  one  could  say  of  Mehetabel  that  she  had  been 
frivolous  and  forward.  Reserved,  even  in  a  tavern : 
always  able  to  maintain  her  dignity  ;  respecting  herself, 


76  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

she  had  enforced  respect  from  others.  That  she  was 
hard-working,  shrewd,  thrifty,  none  who  visited  the 
Ship  could  fail  to  know. 

Many  a  lad  had  attempted  to  win  her  favor,  and  all 
had  been  repulsed.  She  could  keep  forward  suitors  at 
a  distance  without  wounding  their  self-esteem,  without 
making  them  bear  her  a  grudge.  She  was  tall,  well- 
built  and  firmly  knit.  There  was  in  her  evidence  of 
physical  as  well  as  of  moral  strength. 

Though  young,  Mehetabel  seemed  older  than  her 
years,  so  fully  developed  was  her  frame,  so  swelling 
her  bosom,  so  set  were  her  features. 

Usually  the  girl  wore  a  high  color,  but  of  late  this 
had  faded  out  of  her  face,  which  had  been  left  of  an 
ashen  hue.  Her  pallor,  however,  only  gave  greater 
effect  to  the  lustre  and  profusion  of  her  dark  hair  and 
to  the  size  and  to  the  velvet  depth  and  softness  of  her 
hazel  eyes. 

The  girl  had  finely-moulded  eyebrows,  which,  when 
she  frowned  through  anger,  or  contracted  them  through 
care,  met  in  one  band,  and  gave  a  lowering  expression 
to  her  massive  brow. 

An  urchin  in  the  rear  nudged  a  ploughboy,  and  said 
in  a  low  tone,  "  Jim  !  The  old  harnet  out  o'  the  'ollow 
tree  be  in  luck  to-day.  Wot'll  he  do  with  her,  now 
he's  ketched  a  butterfly?  " 

*'  Wot  be  he  like  to  do  ? "  retorted  the  bumpkin. 
"  A  proper  spiteful  twoad  such  as  he — why,  he'll 
rumple  all  the  color  and  booty  out  o'  her  wings,  and 
sting  her  till  her  blood  runs  pison.*' 

Then  from  the  tower  pealed  the  bells. 

Jonas  pressed  the  arm  of  Mehetabel,  and  leering 
into  her  face,  said :  "  Come,  say  a  word  o'  thanks. 
Better  late  than  never.  At  the  last,  through  me, 
you've  gotten  a  surname." 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  77 


CHAPTER  XII. 
UNEXPECTED. 

The  wedding  party  was  assembled  at  the  Ship, 
which  for  this  day  concerned  itself  not  with  outsiders, 
but  provided  only  for  such  as  were  invited  to  sit  and 
drink,  free  of  charge,  to  the  health  and  happiness  of 
bride  and  bridegroom. 

The  invitation  had  been  extended  to  the  kinsfolk 
of  Jonas  in  the  Punch-Bowl,  as  a  matter  of  course  ; 
but  none  had  accepted,  one  had  his  farm,  another 
his  business,  and  a  third  could  not  go  unless  his  wife 
let  him. 

Consequently  the  bridegroom  was  badly  supported. 
He  was  not  the  man  to  make  friends,  and  such  ac- 
quaintances of  his  as  appeared  did  so,  not  out  of  friend- 
ship, but  in  expectation  of  eating  and  drinking  at  the 
landlord's  table. 

This  angered  Jonas,  who,  in  church,  on  looking 
around,  had  noticed  that  his  own  family  had  failed 
to  attend,  but  that  they  should  fail  also  at  the  feast 
was  what  surprised  him. 

"  It  don't  matter  a  rush,"  scoffed  he  in  Mehetabel's 
ear,  ''  we  can  get  along  without  'em,  and  if  they  won't 
come  to  eat  roast  duck  and  green  peas,  there  are  others 
who  will  and  say  *  Thank'y.'  '* 

The  announcement  of  Jonas's  engagement  had  been 
indeed  too  bitter  a  morsel  for  his  sister  to  swallow. 
She  resented  his  matrimonial  project  as  a  personal 
wrong,  as  a  robbery  committed  on  the  Rocliffes.  Her 
husband  was  not  in  good  circumstances ;  in  fact,  the 
family  had  become  involved  through  a  marriage,  to 
which  allusion  has  already  been  made ;  and  had  not 
thereafter  been  able  to  recover  from  it. 


78  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

She  had  felt  the  pressure  of  debt,  and  the  struggle 
for  existence.  It  had  eaten  into  her  flesh  like  a  canker, 
and  had  turned  her  heart  into  wormwood.  In  her 
pinched  circumstances,  even  the  pittance  paid  by  her 
brother  for  doing  his  cooking  and  washing  had  been  a 
consideration.     This  now  was  to  be  withdrawn. 

Sarah  Rocliffe  had  set  her  ambition  on  the  acqui- 
sition of  her  brother's  estate,  by  which  means  alone, 
as  far  as  she  could  see,  would  the  family  be  enabled  to 
shake  off  the  incubus  that  oppressed  it.  Content  in 
her  own  lifetime  to  drudge  and  moil,  she  would  have 
gone  on  to  the  end,  grumbling  and  fault-finding,  in- 
deed, but  satisfied  with  the  prospect  that  at  some  time 
in  the  future  her  son  would  inherit  the  adjoining  farm 
and  be  lifted  thereby  out  of  the  sorry  position  in  which 
was  his  father,  hampered  on  all  sides,  and  without 
cheeriness. 

But  this  hope  was  now  taken  from  her.  Jonas  was 
marrying  a  young  and  vigorous  wife,  and  a  family  was 
certain  to  follow. 

The  woman  had  not  the  command  over  herself  to 
veil  her  feelings,  and  put  on  a  semblance  of  good 
humor,  not  even  the  grace  to  put  in  an  appearance  at 
the  wedding. 

The  story  must  now  be  told  which  accounts  for  the 
embarrassed  circumstances  of  the  Rocliffe  family. 

This  shall  be  done  by  means  of  an  extract  from  a 
periodical  of  the  date  of  the  event  which  clouded  the 
hitherto  flourishing  condition  of  the  Rocliffes.  The 
periodical  from  which  the  quotation  comes  is  **  The 
Royal  Magazine,  or  Gentleman's  Monthly  Companion  " 
for  1765. 

"  A  few  weeks  ago  a  gentlewoman,  about  twenty- 
five  years  of  age,  applied  to  a  farmer  and  broom-maker, 
near  Hadleigh,  in  Hants  "*  for  a  lodging,  telling  them 
that  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  nobleman,  and  forced 
from  her  father's    house    by    his   ill-treatment.     Her 


*  Not  really  in  Hants,  but  in  Surrey,  adjoining  the  County  demarca- 
tion. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  79 

manner  of  relating  the  story  so  affected  the  farn^er 
that  he  took  her  in,  and  kindly  entertained  her. 

*'  In  the  course  of  conversation,  she  artfully  let  drop 
that  she  had  a  portion  of  ;^90,cxx),  of  which  she  should 
be  possessed  as  soon  as  her  friends  in  London  knew 
where  she  was. 

After  some  days'  stay  she  told  the  farmer  the  best 
return  in  her  power  for  this  favor  would  be  to  marry 
his  son,  Thomas  (a  lad  about  eighteen),  if  it  was  agree- 
able to  him.  The  poor  old  man  was  overjoyed  at  the 
proposal,  and  in  a  short  time  they  were  married  ;  after 
which  she  informed  her  father-in-law  she  had  great 
interest  at  Court,  and  if  he  could  for  the  present  raise 
money  to  equip  them  in  a  genteel  manner,  she  could 
procure  a  colonel's  commission  for  her  husband. 

"  The  credulous  farmer  thereupon  mortgaged  his 
little  estate  for  ;^ICX),  and  everything  necessary  being 
bought  for  the  new  married  couple,  they  took  the  rest 
of  the  money  and  set  out  for  London,  accompanied  by 
three  of  the  farmer's  friends,  and  got  to  the  Bear  Inn, 
in  the  Borough,  on  Christmas  eve  ;  where  they  lived 
for  about  ten  days  in  an  expensive  manner  ;  and  she 
went  in  a  coach  every  morning  to  St.  James's  end  of  the 
town,  on  pretence  of  soliciting  for  her  husband's  com- 
mission, and  to  obtain  her  own  fortune.  But  it  was 
at  length  discovered  that  the  woman  was  an  impostor  ; 
and  the  poor  country  people  were  obliged  to  sell  their 
horses  by  auction  towards  defraying  the  expenses  of 
the  inn  before  they  could  set  out  on  their  return  home, 
which  they  did  on  foot,  last  Saturday  morning." 

If  the  hundred  pounds  raised  on  mortgage  had 
covered  all  the  expenses  incurred,  the  Rocliffes  might 
have  been  satisfied. 

Unhappily  they  got  further  involved.  They  fell 
into  the  hands  of  a  lawyer  in  Portsmouth,  who  under- 
took to  see  them  righted,  but  the  only  advantage  they 
gained  from  his  intervention  was  the  acquisition  of 
certain  information  that  the  woman  who  had  married 
Thomas  had  been  married  before. 

Accordingly  Thomas  was  free,  and  he  used  his  free- 


8o  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

dom  some  years  later,  when  of  a  ripe  age,  to  marry 
Sarah  Kink,  the  sister  of  Bideabout. 

Rocliffe  had  never  been  able  to  shake  himself  free 
of  the  ridicule  that  attended  to  him,  after  the  expedi- 
tion to  London,  and  what  was  infinitely  more  vexatious 
and  worse  to  endure  was  the  burden  of  debt  that  had 
then  been  incurred,  and  which  was  more  than  doubled 
through  the  activity  of  the  lawyer  by  whom  he  had 
been  inveigled  into  submitting  himself  and  his  affairs 
to  him. 

As  the  eating  and  drinking  proceeded,  the  Broom- 
Squire  drank  copiously,  became  noisy,  boastful,  and 
threw  out  sarcastic  remarks  calculated  to  hit  those  who 
ate  and  drank  with  him,  but  were  mainly  directed  against 
those  of  his  own  family  who  had  absented  themselves, 
but  to  whose  ears  he  was  confident  they  would  be 
wafted. 

Mehetabel,  who  saw  that  he  was  imbibing  more 
than  he  could  bear  without  becoming  quarrelsome  lost 
her  pallor,  and  a  hectic  flame  kindled  in  her  cheek. 

Mrs.  Verstage  looked  on  uneasily.  She  was  familiar 
with  the  moods  of  Bideabout,  and  feared  the  turn 
matters  would  take. 

Presently  he  announced  that  he  would  sing  a  song, 
and  in  harsh  tones  began  : — 

"  A  cobbler  there  was,  and  he  lived  in  a  stall, 
But  Charlotte,  my  nymph,  had  no  lodging  at  all. 
And  at  a  Broom-Squire's,  in  pitiful  plight, 
Did  pray  and  beseech  for  a  lodging  one  night, 

Derry-down,  derry-down. 
"  She  asked  for  admittance,  her  story  to  tell, 
Of  all  her  misfortunes,  and  what  her  befel. 
Of  her  parentage  high, — but  so  great  was  her  grief. 
She'd  never  a  comfort  to  give  her  relief, 

Derry-down,  derry-down.* 

"  Now,  look  here,"  said  Simon  Verstage,  interrupt- 
ing the  singer,  "  We  all  of  us  know  that  there  ballet, 
pretty  well.  It's  vastly  long,  if  I  remembers  aright, 
something  like  fourteen  verses  ;  and  I  think  we  can  do 

*  This  is  the  beginning  of  a  long  ballad  based  on  the  incidents  above 
mentioned,  which  is  still  current  in  the  neighborhood. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  8i 

very  well  wi'out  it  to-night.     I  fancy  your  brother-in- 
law,  Thomas,  mightn't  relish  it." 

"  He's  not  here,"  said  the  Broom-Squire. 

"  But  I  am  here,"  said  the  landlord,  "  and  I  say  that 
the  piece  is  too  long  for  singing,  'twill'  make  you  too 
hoarse  to  say  purty  speeches  and  soft  things  to  your 
new  missus,  and  it's  a  bit  stale  for  our  ears." 

"  It's  an  ill  bird  that  befouls  its  own  nest,"  said  a 
young  fellow  present. 

Bideabout  overheard  the  remark.  "  What  do  you 
mean  by  that  ?  Was  that  aimed  at  me  ?  "  he  shouted 
and  started  to  his  feet. 

A  brawl  would  have  inevitably  ensued,  but  for  a 
timely  interruption. 

In  the  door  stood  a  well-dressed,  good-looking  young 
man,  surveying  the  assembled   company  with  a  smile. 

Silence  ensued.     Bideabout  looked  round. 

Then,  with  a  cry  of  joy,  mingled  with  pain,  Mrs. 
Verstage  started  from  her  feet. 

*'  It  is  Iver !  my  Iver  !  " 

In  another  moment  mother  and  son  were  locked  in 
each  other's  arms. 

The  guests  rose  and  looked  questioningly  at  their 
host,  before  they  welcomed  the  intruder. 

Simon  Verstage  remained  seated,  with  his  glass  in 
his  hand,  gazing  sternly  into  it.  His  face  became 
mottled,  red  spots  appeared  on  the  temples,  and  on  the 
cheekbones  ;  elsewhere  he  was  pale. 

Mehetabel  went  to  him,  placed  her  hand  upon  his, 
and  said,  in  a  trembling  voice,  "  Dear  father,  this  is  my 
wedding  day.     I  am  about  to  leave  you  for  good.    Do- 
not  deny  me  the  one  and  only  request  I  make.     For- 
give Iver." 

The  old  man's  lips  moved,  but  he  did  not  speak.  He 
looked  steadily,  somewhat  sternly,  at  the  young  man 
and  mustered  his  appearance. 

Meanwhile  Iver  had  disengaged  himself  from  his 
mother's  embrace,  and  he  came  towards  his  father  with 
extended  hand. 

"  See,"  said  he  cheerily,  "  I  am  free  to  admit,  and  do 
6 


82  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

it  heartily,  that  I  did  wrong,  in  painting  over  the  stern 
of  the  vessel,  and  putting  it  into  perspective  as  far  as 
my  lights  went.  Father !  I  can  remove  the  coat  of 
paint  that  I  put  on,  and  expose  that  outrageous  old 
stern  again.  I  will  do  more.  I  will  violate  all  the  laws 
of  perspective  in  heaven  and  earth,  and  turn  the  bows 
round  also,  so  as  to  thoroughly  show  the  ship's  head, 
and  make  that  precious  vessel  look  like  a  dog  curling 
itself  up  for  a  nap.     Will  that  satisfy  you  ?  " 

All  the  guests  were  silent,  and  fixed  their  eyes 
anxiously  on  the  taverner. 

Iver  was  frank  in  speech,  had  lost  all  provincial  dia- 
lect, was  quite  the  gentleman.  He  had  put  off  the 
rustic  air  entirely.  He  was  grown  a  very  handsome 
fellow,  with  oval  face,  full  hair  on  his  head,  somewhat 
curling,  and  his  large  brown  eyes  were  sparkling  with 
pleasure  at  being  again  at  home.  In  his  whole  bearing 
there  was  self-confidence. 

"  Simon  ! "  pleaded  Mrs.  Verstage,  with  tears  in  her 
voice,  "  he's  your  own  flesh  and  blood  !  " 

He  remained  unmoved. 

**  Father !  "  said  Mehetabel,  clinging  to  his  hand, 
**  Dear,  dear  father  !  for  my  sake,  whom  you  have  loved, 
and  whom  you  lose  out  of  your  house  to-day." 

"  There  is  my  hand,"  said  the  old  man. 

"And  you  shall  have  the  ship  again  just  as  suits 
your  heart,"  said  Iver. 

"  I  doubt,"  answered  the  taverner,  "  it  will  be  easier 
to  get  the  Old  Ship  to  look  what  she  ort,  than  it  will 
be  to  get  you  to  look  again  like  a  publican's  son." 

The  reconciliation  on  the  old  man's  side  was  without 
cordiality,  yet  it  was  accepted  by  all  present  with 
cheers  and  handshakings. 

It  was  but  too  obvious  that  the  modish  appearance 
of  his  son  had  offended  the  old  man. 

"  Heaven  bless  me !  "  exclaimed  Iver,  when  this 
commotion  was  somewhat  allayed.  He  was  looking 
with  undisguised  admiration  and  surprise  at  Mehetabel. 

"Why,"  asked  he,  pushing  his  way  towards  her, 
"  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?  " 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  Bs 

"That  is  Matabel,  indeed,"  explained  his  mother. 
"And  this  is  her  wedding  day." 

"  You  married !  You,  Matabel !  And,  to-day ! 
The  day  of  my  return!  Where  is  the  happy  man? 
Show  him  to  me." 

His  mother  indicated  the  bridegroom.  Mehetabel's 
heart  was  too  full  to  speak ;  she  was  too  dazed  with 
the  new  turn  of  affairs  to  know  what  to  do. 

Iver  looked  steadily  at  Jonas. 

"  What  !  "  he  exclaimed,  '*  Bideabout  !  Never, 
surely  !  I  cannot  mistake  your  face  nor  the  look  of 
your  eyes.     So,  you  have  won  the  prize — you  !  " 

Still  he  looked  at  Jonas.  He  refrained  from  ex- 
tending his  hand  in  congratulation.  Whether  thought- 
lessly or  not,  he  put  it  behind  his  back.  An  expres- 
sion passed  over  his  face  that  the  bride  observed,  and 
it  sent  the  blood  flying  to  her  cheek  and  temples. 

"  So,"  said  Iver,  and  now  he  held  out  both  hands, 
"  Little  Matabel,  I  have  returned  to  lose  you  ! " 

He  wrung  her  hands,  both, — he  would  not  let  them 

"  I  wish  you  all  joy.  I  wish  you  everything,  every- 
thing that  your  heart  can  desire.  But  I  am  surprised. 
I  can't  realize  it  all  at  once.  My  little  Matabel  grown 
so  big,  become  so  handsome — and,  hang  me,  leaving 
the  Old  Ship !  Poor  Old  Ship !  Bideabout,  I  ought 
to  have  been  consulted.  I  gave  Matabel  her  name.  I 
have  certain  rights  over  her,  and  I  won't  surrender 
them  all  in  a  hurry.  Here,  mother,  give  me  a  glass, 
'tis  a  strange  day  on  which  I  come  home." 

Dissatisfaction  appeared  in  his  face,  hardly  to  be  ex- 
pected in  one  who  should  have  been  in  cloudless  radi- 
ance on  his  return  after  years  of  absence,  and  with  his 
quarrel  with  the  father  at  an  end. 

Now  old  acquaintances  crowded  about  him  to  ask 
questions  as  to  how  he  had  lived  during  his  absence, 
upon  what  he  had  been  employed,  how  the  world  had 
fared  with  him,  whether  he  was  married,  and  if  so,  how 
many  children  he  had  got,  and  what  were  their  re- 
spective ages  and  sexes,  and  names  and  statures. 


84  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

For  a  while  bride  and  bridegroom  were  outside  the 
circle,  and  Iver  was  the  centre  of  interest  and  regard. 
Iver  responded  good-humoredly  and  pleaded  for 
patience.  He  was  hungry,  he  was  thirsty,  he  was 
dusty  and  hot.  He  must  postpone  personal  details 
till  a  more  convenient  season.  Now  his  mind  was 
taken  up  with  the  thought,  not  of  himself,  but  of  his 
old  playmate,  his  almost  sister,  his — he  might  dare  to 
call  her,  first  love — who  was  stepping  out  of  the 
house,  out  of  his  reach,  just  as  he  stepped  back  into 
it,  strong  with  the  anticipation  of  finding  her  there. 
Then  raising  his  glass,  and  looking  at  Matabel,  he  said  : 
"  Here's  to  you,  Matabel,  and  may  you  be  very  happy 
with  the  man  of  your  choice." 

"  Have  you  no  good  wish  for  me  ?  "  sneered  the 
Broom-Squire. 

"  For  you,  Bideabout,"  answered  Iver,  "  I  do  not 
express  a  wish.  I  know  for  certainty  that  you,  that 
any  man,  not  may,  but  must  be  happy  with  such  a 
girl,  unless  he  be  a  cur." 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE^  85 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
HOME. 

BiDEABOUT  was  driving  his  wife  home. 

Home !  There  is  no  word  sweeter  to  him  who  has 
created  that  reality  to  which  the  name  belongs ;  but 
there  is  no  word  more  full  of  vague  fears  to  one  who 
has  it  to  create. 

Home  to  Bideabout  was  a  rattle-trap  farmhouse  built 
partly  of  brick,  mainly  of  timber,  thatched  with  heather, 
at  the  bottom  of  the  Punch-Bowl. 

It  was  a  dwelling  that  served  to  cover  his  head,  but 
was  without  pleasant  or  painful  associations — a  place 
in  which  rats  raced  and  mice  squeaked  ;  a  place  in 
which  money  might  be  made  and  hoarded,  but  on 
which  little  had  been  spent.  It  was  a  place  he  had 
known  from  childhood  as  the  habitation  of  his  parents, 
and  which  now  was  his  own.  His  childhood  had  been 
one  of  drudgery  without  cheerfulness,  and  was  not 
looked  back  on  with  regret.  Home  was  not  likely  to 
be  much  more  to  him  in  the  future  than  it  was  in  the 
present.  More  comfortable  perhaps,  certainly  more 
costly.     But  it  was  other  with  Mehetabel. 

She  was  going  to  the  unknown. 

As  we  shudder  at  the  prospect  of  passing  out  of 
this  world  into  that  beyond  the  veil,  so  does  many  a 
girl  shrink  at  the  prospect  of  the  beyond  seen  through 
the  wedding  ring. 

She  had  loved  the  home  at  the  Ship.  Would  she 
learn  to  love  the  home  in  the  Punch-Bowl  ? 

She  had  understood  and  made  allowance  for  the 
humors  of  the  landlord  and  landlady  of  the  tavern ; 
did  she  know  those  of  her  future  associate  in  the  farm  ? 
To  many  a  maid,  the  great  love  that  swells  her  heart 


86  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

and  dazzles  her  brain  carries  her  into  the  new  con- 
dition on  the  wings  of  hope. 

Love  banishes  fear.  Confidence  in  the  beloved  blots 
out  all  mistrust  as  to  the  future. 

But  in  this  case  there  was  no  love,  nothing  to  inspire 
confidence  ;  and  Mehetabel  looked  forward  with  vague 
alarm,  almost  with  a  premonition  of  evil. 

Jonas  was  in  no  mood  for  meditation.  He  had  im- 
bibed freely  at  the  inn,  and  was  heavy,  disposed  to  sleep, 
and  only  prevented  from  dozing  by  the  necessity 
he  was  under  of  keeping  the  lazy  cob  in  movement. 

For  if  Jonas  was  in  no  meditative  mood,  the  old 
horse  was,  and  he  halted  at  intervals  to  ponder  over 
the  load  he  was  drawing,  and  ask  why  on  this  oc- 
casion he  had  to  drag  uphill  two  persons  instead  of 
one. 

The  sun  had  set  before  the  couple  left  the  Ship. 

The  road  ascended,  at  first  gradually,  then  at  a  more 
rapid  incline.  The  cob  could  not  be  induced  to  trot  by 
word  or  whip  ;  and  the  walk  of  a  horse  is  slower  than 
that  of  a  man. 

"  It's  bostall  (a  steep  ascent,  in  the  Wealden  dia- 
lect) till  we  come  to  the  gallows,**  muttered  Jonas ; 
"  then  we  have  the  drove-road  down  into  the  Punch- 
Bowl." 

Mehetabel  tightened  her  shawl  about  her  shoulders 
and  throat.  The  evening  was  chilly  for  the  time  of  the 
year.  Much  rain  had  fallen,  and  the  air  was  charged 
with  moisture,  that  settled  in  cold  dew  on  the  cart,  on 
the  harness,  on  Bideabout's  glazed  hat,  on  the  bride's 
clothing,  bathing  her,  all  things,  as  in  the  tears  of  silent 
sorrow. 

*'  One  of  us  must  get  out  and  walk,"  said  the  bride- 
groom. "  Old  Clutch — that's  the  'oss — is  twenty-five, 
and  there's  your  box  and  bundle  behind." 

He  made  no  attempt  to  dismount,  but  looked  side- 
ways at  the  bride. 

*'  If  you'll  pull  up  I'll  get  out  and  walk,"  she  an- 
swered. "  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  so.  The  dew  falls  like 
rain,  and  I  am  chilled  to  the  marrow." 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  87 

"  Right  then,"  assented  the  Broom-Squire,  and  drew 
the  rein. 

Mehetabel  descended  from  her  seat  in  the  cart.  In 
so  doing  something  fell  on  the  road  from  her  bosom. 
She  stooped  and  picked  it  up. 

"  Wot's  that?"  asked  Jonas,  and  pointed  to  the 
article  with  his  whip,  that  was  flourished  with  a  favor 
of  white  ribbons. 

"  It  is  a  present  father  has  made  me,"  answered 
Mehetabel.  ''  I  was  in  a  hurry — and  not  accustomed 
to  pockets,  so  I  just  put  it  into  my  bosom.  I  ought 
to  have  set  it  in  a  safer  place,  in  the  new  pocket  made 
to  my  gown.     I'll  do  that  now.     It's  money." 

"  Money  !  "  repeated  Bideabout.  *'  How  much  may 
it  be?" 

*'  I  have  not  looked." 

"  Then  look  at  it,  once  now  (at  once)." 

He  switched  the  whip  with  its  white  favor  about, 
but  kept  his  eye  on  Mehetabel. 

"  What  did  he  give  it  you  for  ?  " 

"  As  a  wedding  present." 

"Gold,  is  it?" 

"  Gold  and  notes." 

"  Gold  and  notes.  Hand  'em  to  me.  I  can  count 
fast  enough." 

"  The  sum  is  fifteen  pounds — dear,  kind,  old  man." 

"Fifteen  pounds,  is  it  ?  You  might  ha'  lost  it  wi* 
your  carelessness." 

"  I'll  not  be  careless  now." 

"  Good,  hand  it  me." 

"  I  cannot  do  that,  Jonas.  It  is  mine.  Father  said 
to  me  I  was  to  keep  it  'gainst  a  rainy  day." 

"  Didn't  you  swear  in  church  to  endow  me  with  all 
your  worldly  goods  ?  "  asked  the  Broom-Squire. 

•'  No,  it  was  you  who  did  that.     I  then  had  nothing." 

"  Oh,  was  it  so  ?  I  don't  remember  that.  If  you'd 
had  them  fifteen  pounds  then,  and  the  passon  had 
knowed  about  it,  he'd  ha'  made  you  swear  to  hand  it 
over  to  me — your  lord  and  master." 

"  There's  nothing  about  that  in  the  Prayer-book," 


88  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

"  Then  there  ort  to  be.  Hand  me  the  money.  You 
was  nigh  on  losing  the  lot,  and  ain't  fit  to  keep  it. 
Fifteen  pounds !  " 

"  I  cannot  give  it  to  you,  Bideabout ;  father  told  me 
it  was  to  be  my  very  own,  I  was  not  to  let  it  go  out  of 
my  hands,  not  even  into  yours,  but  to  husband  it " 

"  Ain't  I  your  husband  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  mean  that,  to  hoard  it  against  an  evil  day. 
There  is  no  saying  when  that  may  come.  And  I 
passed  my  word  it  should  be  so." 

He  growled  and  said,  "Look  here,  Matabel.  It'll 
be  a  bostall  road  with  you  an'  me,  unless  there's  give 
on  one  side  and  take  on  the  other." 

"  Is  all  the  give  to  be  on  my  side,  and  the  take  on 
yours  ?  " 

"  In  coorse.  Wot  else  is  matrimony  ?  The  sooner 
you  learn  that  the  better  for  peace." 

He  whipped  the  cob,  and  the  brute  moved  on. 

Mehetabel  walked  forward  an4  outstripped  the  con- 
veyance. Old  Clutch  was  a  specially  slow  walker. 
She  soon  reached  that  point  at  which  moorland  began, 
without  hedge  on  either  side.  Trees  had  ceased  to 
stud  the  heathy  surface. 

Before  her  rose  the  ridge  that  culminated  where  rose 
the  gallows,  and  stood  inky  black  against  the  silvery 
light  of  declining  day  behind  them. 

To  the  north,  in  the  plain  gleamed  some  ponds. 

Cuilew  were  piping  sadly. 

Mehetabel  was  immersed  in  her  own  thoughts,  glad 
to  be  by  herself.  Jonas  had  not  said  much  to  her  in 
the  cart,  yet  his  presence  had  been  irksome.  She 
thought  of  the  past,  of  her  childhood  along  with  Iver, 
of  the  day  when  he  ran  away.  How  handsome  he 
had  become  !  What  an  expression  of  contempt  had 
passed  over  his  countenance  when  he  looked  at  Bide- 
about,  and  learned  that  he  was  the  bridegroom — the 
happy  man  who  had  won  her !  How  earnestly  he  had 
gazed  into  her  eyes,  till  she  was  compelled  to  lower 
them ! 

Was  Iver  going  to  settle  at  the  Ship  ?     Would  he 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  89 

come  over  to  the  Punch-Bowl  to  see  her  ?  Would  he 
come  often  and  talk  over  happy  childish  days?  There 
had  been  a  little  romance  between  them  as  children  : 
long  forgotten  :  now  reviving. 

Her  hand  trembled  as  she  raised  it  to  her  lips  to  wipe 
away  the  dew  that  had  formed  there. 

She  had  reached  the  highest  point  on  the  road,  and 
below  yawned  the  great  crater-like  depression,  at  the 
bottom  of  which  lay  the  squatter  settlement.  A  little 
higher,  at  the  very  summit  of  the  hill,  stood  the  gibbet, 
and  the  wind  made  the  chains  clank  as  it  trifled  with 
them.  The  bodies  were  gone,  they  had  mouldered 
away,  and  the  bones  had  fallen  and  were  laid  in  the 
earth  or  sand  beneath,  but  the  gallows  remained. 

Clink  !  clink  !  clank  !     Clank !  clink !  clink  ! 

There  was  rhythm  and  music,  as  of  far-away  bells,  in 
the  clashing  of  these  chains. 

The  gibbet  was  on  Mehetabel's  left  hand ;  on  the 
right  was  the  abyss. 

She  looked  down  into  the  cauldron,  turning  with  dis- 
gust from  the  gallows,  and  yet  was  inspired  with  an 
almost  equal  repugnance  at  the  sight  of  the  dark  void 
below. 

She  was  standing  on  the  very  spot  where,  eighteen 
years  before,  she  had  been  found  by  Iver.  He  had 
taken  her  up,  and  had  given  her  a  name.  Now  she  was 
taken  up  by  another,  and  by  him  a  new  name  was 
conferred  upon  her. 

"  Come  !  "  said  Jonas ;  "  it's  all  downhill,  henceforth." 

Were  the  words  ominous? 

He  had  arrived  near  her  without  her  hearing  him,  so 
occupied  had  her  mind  been.  As  he  spoke  she  uttered 
a  cry  of  alarm. 

"  Afraid  ?  "  he  asked.     "  Of  what  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer.  She  was  trembling.  Perhaps 
her  nerves  had  been  overwrought.  The  Punch-Bowl 
looked  to  her  like  the  Bottomless  Pit. 

"  Did  you  think  one  of  the  dead  men  had  got  up 
from  under  the  gallows,  and  had  come  down  to  talk 
with  you  ?  " 


90  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

She  did  not  speak.     She  could  not. 

"  It's  all  a  pass'l  o'  nonsense,"  he  said.  "  When  the 
dead  be  turned  into  dust  they  never  come  again  except 
as  pertaties  or  the  like.  There  was  Tim  Wingerlee 
growed  won'erful  fine  strawberries  ;  they  found  out  at 
last  he  took  the  soil  in  which  he  growed  'em  from  the 
churchyard.  I  don't  doubt  a  few  shovelfuls  from  under 
them  gallows  'ud  bring  on  early  pertaties — famous. 
Now  then,  get  up  into  the  cart." 

"  I'd  rather  walk,  Jonas.  The  way  down  seems  crit- 
ical.    It  is  dark  in  the  Bowl,  and  the  ruts  are  deep." 

"  Get  up,  I  say.  There  is  no  occasion  to  be  afraid. 
It  won't  do  to  drive  among  our  folk,  to  our  own  door, 
me  alone,  and  you  trudgin',  totterin'  behind.  Get  up, 
I  say." 

Mehetabel  obeyed. 

There  was  a  fragrance  of  fern  in  the  night  air  that 
she  had  inhaled  while  walking.  Now  by  the  side  of 
Bideabout  she  smelt  only  the  beer  and  stale  tobacco 
that  adhered  to  his  clothes. 

"  I  am  main  glad,"  said  he,  **  that  all  the  hustle-bustle 
is  over.  I'm  glad  I'm  not  wed  every  day.  Fust  and 
last  time  I  hopes.  The  only  good  got  as  I  can  see, 
is  a  meal  and  drink  at  the  landlord's  expense.  But  he'll 
take  it  out  of  me  someways,  sometime.  Folks  ain't 
liberal  for  nuthin*.     'Tain't  in  human  nature." 

"  It  is  very  dark  in  the  Punch-Bowl,"  said  Mehet- 
abel.    "  I  do  not  see  a  glimmer  of  a  light  anywhere." 

**  That's  becos  the  winders  ain't  looking  this  way. 
You  don't  suppose  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to  have  three 
dead  men  danglin'  in  the  wind  afore  their  eyes  all  day 
long.  The  winders  look  downward,  or  else  there's  a 
fold  of  the  hill  or  trees  between.  But  I  know  where 
every  house  is  wi'out  seeing  'em.  There's  the  Nashes', 
there's  the  Boxalls',  there's  the  Snellings',  there's  my 
brother-in-law's,  Thomas  Rocliffe's,  and  down  there 
be  I." 

He  pointed  with  his  whip.  Mehetabel  could  dis- 
tinguish nothing  beyond  the  white  favor  bound  to  his 
whip. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  91 

"  We're  drivin'  to  Paradise,"  said  Jonas.  And  as  to 
this  remark  she  made  no  response,  he  explained — 
**  Married  life,  you  know." 

She  said  nothing. 

"It  rather  looks  as  if  we  were  going  down  to  the 
other  place,"  he  observed,  with  a  sarcastic  laugh. 
**  But  there  it  is,  one  or  the  other — all  depends  on  you. 
It's  just  as  you  make  it ;  as  likely  to  be  one  as  the 
other.  Give  me  that  fifteen  pounds — and  Paradise  is 
the  word." 

**  Indeed,  Jonas,  do  you  not  understand  that  I  cannot 
go  against  father's  will  and  my  word  ?  " 

The  road,  or  rather  track,  descended  along  the  steep 
side  of  the  Punch-Bowl,  notched  into  the  sand  falling 
away  rapidly  on  the  left  hand,  on  which  side  sat 
Mehetabel. 

At  first  she  had  distinguished  nothing  below  in  the 
blackness,  but  now  something  like  a  dead  man's  eye 
looked  out  of  it,  and  seemed  to  follow  and  observe  her. 

"  What  is  that  yonder?  "  she  asked. 

"  Wot  is  wot  ?  "  he  asked  in  reply. 

"  That  pale  white  light — that  round  thing  glimmerin* 
yonder? " 

"  There's  water  below,"'  was  his  explanation  of  the 
phenomenon. 

In  fact  that  which  had  attracted  her  attention  and 
somewhat  alarmed  her,  was  one  of  the  patches  of  water 
formed  in  the  marshy  bottom  of  the  Punch-Bowl  by 
the  water  that  oozes  forth  in  many  springs  from  under 
the  sandstone. 

The  track  now  passed  under  trees. 

A  glimpse  of  dull  orange  light,  and  old  Clutch  halted, 
unbidden. 

'*  Here  we  be,  we  two,"  said  Jonas.  "  This  is  home. 
And  Paradise,  if  you  will." 


92  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE, 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
NOT  PARADISE. 

At  the  moment  that  the  cart  halted,  a  black  dog 
burst  out  of  the  house  door,  and  flew  at  Mehetabel  as 
she  attempted  to  descend. 

"  Ha,  Tartar  !  "  laughed  Jonas.  "  The  rascal  seems 
to  know  his  reign  is  over.  Go  back,  Tartar.  I'll 
thrash  you  till  the  favor  off  my  whip  is  beat  into  your 
hide,  if  you  don't  be  quiet.  Hitherto  he  has  guarded 
my  house,  when  I  have  been  from  home.  Now  that 
will  be  your  duty,  Matabel.  Can't  keep  a  wife  and  a 
dog.  'Twould  be  too  extravagant.  Tartar  !  Down  ! 
This  is  your  mistress — till  I  get  rid  of  you." 

The  dog  withdrew  reluctantly,  continuing  to  growl 
and  to  show  his  fangs  at  Mehetabel. 

In  the  doorway  stood  Sally  Rocliffe,  the  sister  of 
Jonas.  Though  not  so  openly  resentful  of  the  intru- 
sion as  was  Tartar,  she  viewed  the  bride  with  ill-dis- 
guised bad  humor ;  indeed,  without  an  affectation  of 
cordiality. 

*'  I  thought  you  was  never  coming,"  was  Sarah's 
salutation.  "  Goodness  knows,  I  have  enough  to  do  in 
my  own  house,  and  for  my  own  people,  not  to  be  kept 
dancin'  all  these  hours  in  attendance,  because  others 
find  time  for  makin'  fools  of  themselves.  Now,  I  hope 
I  shall  not  be  wanted  longer.  My  man  needs  his  meals 
as  much  as  others,  and  if  he  don't  get  'em  reglar,  who 
suffers  but  I  ?  Dooty  begins  at  home.  You  might 
have  had  more  consideration,  and  come  earlier,  Jonas." 

The  woman  accorded  to  Mehetabel  but  a  surly 
greeting.  The  young  bride  entered  the  house.  A 
single  tallow  dip  was  burning  on  the  table,  with  a  long 
dock  to  it,  unsnuffed.    The  hearth  was  cold. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  '      93 

"  I  didn't  light  a  fire,"  said  Mrs.  Rocliffe  ;  ''  you  see 
it  wouldn't  do.  Now  you  have  come  as  mistress,  it's 
your  place  to  light  the  fire  on  the  hearth.  I've  heard 
tell  it's  unlucky  for  any  other  body  to  do  it.  Not  as 
I  knows."  She  shrugged  her  should'ers.  It  seemed 
that  this  was  a  mere  excuse  put  forward  to  disguise 
her  indolence,  or  to  veil  her  malevolence. 

Mehetabel  looked  around  her. 

There  were  no  plates.  There  was  nothing  to  eat 
prepared  on  the  kitchen  table.  No  cloth ;  nothing 
whatever  there,  save  the  guttering  candle. 

''  I  didn't  lay  out  nuthin',"  said  Mrs.  Rocliffe;  "  you 
see,  how  was  I  to  say  you'd  want  vittles?  I  suppose 
you  have  had  as  much  as  is  good  for  you  away  where 
you  come  from — at  the  Ship.  If  you  are  hungry — 
there's  cold  rabbit  pie  in  the  larder,  if  it  ain't  gone  bad. 
This  weather  has  been  bad  for  keepin'  meat.  There's 
bread  in  the  larder,  if  you  don't  mind  the  rats  and  mice 
havin'  been  at  it.  That's  not  my  fault.  Jonas,  he 
had  some  for  his  break'us,  and  never  covered  up  the 
pan,  so  the  varmin  have  got  to  it.  There's  ale,  too,  in 
a  barrel,  I  know,  but  Jonas  keeps  the  key  to  that  lest 
I  should  take  a  sup.  He  begrudges  me  that,  and  ex- 
pects me  to  work  for  him  like  a  galley-slave." 

Then  the  woman  was  silent,  looking  moodily  down. 
The  floor  was  strewn  with  flakes  of  whitewash  as 
though  snow  had  fallen  over  it. 

"  You  see,"  said  Mrs.  Rocliffe,  "Jonas  would  go  to 
the  expense  of  whitenin'  the  ceilin',  just  because  you 
was  comin.'  It  had  done  plenty  well  for  father  and 
mother,  and  I  don't  mind  any  time  it  were  whitened 
afore,  and  I  be  some  years  the  elder  of  Jonas.  The 
ceiling  was  that  greasy  wi'  -  smoke,  that  the  white- 
washin'  as  it  dried  'as  pealed  off,  arid  came  down  just 
about.  You  look  up — the  ceilin'  is  ten.  times  worse 
than  afore.  It  looks  as  if  it  were  measly.  I. wouldn't 
sweep  up  the -flakes,  as  fell  off  just  .to  let  Jonas  see  what 
comes  of  his  foolishness.. '  I  told  him' it  would  be  so,  but 
he  wouldn't  believe  rriej"and  ndwlet  hini  see  for  him- 
self— there  it  is," -      -  . 


94  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

With  a  sort  of  malignant  delight  the  woman  ob- 
served Mehetabel,  and  saw  how  troubled  and  un- 
happy she  was. 

Again  a  stillness  ensued.  Mehetabel  could  hear  her 
heart  beat.  She  could  hear  no  other  sound.  She 
looked  through  the  room  towards  the  clock.  It  was 
silent. 

"Ah,  now  there,"  said  Sarah  Rocliffe.  "There  be 
that,  to  be  sure.  Runned  down  is  the  weight.  It 
wasn't  proper  for  me  now  to  wind  up  the  clock.  As 
you  be  the  new  mistress  in  the  house,  it  is  your  place 
and  dooty.     I  suppose  you  know  that." 

Then  from  without  Mehetabel  heard  the  grunts  of 
the  sow  in  the  stye  that  adjoined  the  house,  and  im- 
parted an  undesirable  flavor  to  the  atmosphere  in  it. 

"  That's  the  sow  in  the  pen,"  said  Mrs.  Rocliffe  ; 
"  she's  wantin'  her  meat.  She  hain't  been  galliwantin', 
and  marry  in',  and  bein'  given  in  marriage.  I'm  not 
the  mistress,  and  I've  not  the  dooty  to  provide  ran- 
dans and  crammins  for  other  folks'  hogs.  She'll  be 
goin'  back  in  her  flesh  unless  fed  pretty  smart.  You'd 
best  do  that  at  once,  but  not  in  your  weddin'  dress. 
You  must  get  acquainted  together,  and  the  sooner  the 
better.     She's  regular  rampagous  wi'  hunger." 

"  Would  you  help  me  in  with  my  box,  Mrs. 
Rocliffe?"  asked  Mehetabel.  "  Jonas  set  it  down  by 
the  door,  and  if  I  can  get  that  upstairs  I'll  change  my 
dress  at  once,  and  make  the  fire,  clean  the  floor,  wind 
up  the  clock,  and  feed  the  hog." 

"  I've  such  a  terrible  crick  in  my  back,  I  dussn't  do 
it,"  answered  Sarah  Rocliffe.  "  Why,  how  much  does 
that  there  box  weigh?  I  wonder  Jonas  had  the  face 
to  put  it  in  the  cart,  and  expect  Clutch  to  draw  it. 
Clutch  didn't  like  it  now,  did  he  ?  " 

"  But  how  can  I  get  my  box  in  and  carried  up  ? 
Jonas  is  with  the  horse,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  he  is  minding  the  horse.  Clutch  must 
be  made  comfortable,  and  given  his  hay.  I'll  be 
bound  you  and  Jonas  have  been  eatin'  and  drinkin'  all 
day,  and  never  given  Clutch  a  mouthful,  nor  washed 
his  teeth  with  a  pail  o*  >yater/' 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  95 

"  I'm  sure  Joe  Filmer  looked  to  the  horse  at  the 
Ship.     He  is  very  attentive  to  beasts." 

"  On  ordinary  days,  and  when  nuthin'  is  goin*  on, 
I  dare  say — not  when  there's  weddin's  .and  ducks  and 
green  peas  goin'  for  any  who  axes  for  'em." 

The  report  that  ducks  and  green  peas  were  to  form 
an  element  of  the  entertainment  had  been  told  every- 
where before  the  day  of  the  marriage,  and  it  was  bit- 
terness to  Mrs.  Rocliffe  to  think  that  '*  on  principle," 
as  she  put  it,  she  had  been  debarred  from  eating  her 
share. 

"  Ducks  and  green  peas  ! "  repeated  she.  "  I  s'pose 
you  don't  reckon  on  eating  that  every  day  here,  no, 
nor  on  Sundays,  no,  not  even  at  Christmas.  'Taint 
such  as  we  in  the  Punch-Bowl  as  can  stuff  ourselves  on 
ducks  and  green  peas.  Green  peas  and  ducks  we  may 
grow — but  we  sells  'em  to  the  quality." 

After  some  consideration  Mrs.  Rocliffe  relented 
sufficiently  to  say,  "  I  don't  know  but  what  Samuel  may 
be  idlin' ;  he  mostly  is.  I'll  go  and  send  my  son  Sam- 
uel to  help  you  with  the  box." 

Then  with  a  surly  "  Good-night  "  the  woman  with- 
drew. 

After  a  couple  of  minutes,  she  returned  :  "  I've  come 
back,"  she  said,  "  to  tell  you  that  if  old  Clutch  is  off 
his  meat — and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  was — wi* 
neglect  and  wi'  drawing  such  a  weight — then  you'd 
best  set  to  work  and  make  him  gruel.  Jonas  can't 
afford  to  lose  old  Clutch,  just  becos  he's  got  a  wife." 
Then  she  departed  again. 

Jonas  was  indeed  in  the  stable  attending  to  the 
horse.  He  had,  moreover,  to  run  the  cart  under 
shelter.  Mehetabel  put  out  a  trembling  hand  to  snuff 
the  candle.  Her  hand  was  so  unsteady  that  she  ex- 
tinguished the  light.  Where  to  find  the  tinder  box 
she  knew  not.  She  felt  for  a  bench,  and  in  the  dark- 
ness when  she  had  reached  it,  sank  on  it,  and  burst 
into  tears. 

Such  was  the  welcorhe  to  her  new  home. 

For  some  time  she  sat  with  as  little  light  iii  her 
heart  as  there  was  without. 


96  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

She  felt  some  relief  in  giving  way  to  her  surcharged 
heart.  She  sobbed  and  knitted  her  fingers  together, 
unknitted  them,  and  wove  them  together  again  in  con- 
vulsions of  distress — of  despair. 

What  expectation  of  happiness  had  she  here  ?  She 
was  accustomed  at  the  Ship  to  have  everything  about 
her  neat  and  in  good  order.  The  mere  look  round 
that  she  had  given  to  the  room,  the  principal  room  of 
the  house  she  had  entered,  showed  how  ramshackle  it 
was.  To  some  minds  it  is  essential  that  there  should 
be  propriety,  as  essential  as  that  the  food  they  con- 
sume should  be  wholesome,  the  water  they  drink 
should  be  pure.  They  can  no  more  accommodate 
themselves  to  disorder  than  they  can  to  running  on 
hands  and  feet  like  apes. 

It  was  quite  true  that  this  house  would  be  given  up 
to  Mehetabel  to  do  with  it  what  she  liked.  But  would 
her  husband  care  to  have  it  other  than  it  was? 
Would  he  not  resent  her  attempts  to  alter  every- 
thing ? 

And  for  what  purpose  would  she  strive  and  toil  if  he 
disapproved  of  her  changes  ? 

She  had  no  confidence  that  in  temper,  in  character, 
in  mind,  he  and  she  would  agree,  or  agree  to  differ. 
She  knew  that  he  was  grasping  after  money,  that  he 
commended  no  man,  but  had  a  disparaging  word  for 
every  one,  and  envy  of  all  who  were  prosperous.  She 
had  seen  in  him  no  sign  of  generosity  of  feeling,  no 
spark  of  honor.  No  positive  evil  was  said  of  him ;  if 
he  were  inclined  to  drink  he  was  not  a  drunkard ;  if  he 
stirred  up  strife  in  himself  he  was  not  quarrelsome. 
He  over-reached  in  a  bargain,  but  never  did  anything 
actually  dishonest.  He  was  not  credited  with  any 
lightness  in  his  moral  conduct  towards  any  village  maid. 
That  he  was  frugal,  keen  witted,  was  about  all  the  good 
that  was  said,  and  that  could  be  said  of  him.  If  he  had 
won  no  one's  love  hitherto,  was  it  likely  that  there  was 
anything  lovable  in  him  ?  Would  he  secure  the  affec- 
tions of  his  wife  ? 

Thoughts  rose  and  fell,  tossed  and  broke  in  Mehet- 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  97 

abel's  brain  ;  her  tears  fell  freely,  and  as  she  was  alone 
in  the  house  she  was  able  to  sob  without  restraint. 

Jonas  had  chained  up  Tartar,  and  the  dog  was  howl- 
ing. The  pig  grunted  impatiently.  A /at  raced  across 
the  floor.  Cockroaches  came  out  in  the  darkness  and 
stirred,  making  a  strange  rustling  like  the  pattering  of 
fine  rain. 

Mehetabel  could  hear  the  voice  of  her  husband  in  the 
yard.  He  was  thrusting  the  cart  under  a  roof.  He 
would  be  in  the  house  shortly,  and  she  did  not  wish 
that  he  should  find  her  in  tears,  that  he  should  learn 
how  weak,  how  hopeless  she  was. 

She  put  her  hand  into  her  pocket  for  a  kerchief,  and 
drew  forth  one,  with  which  she  staunched  the  flow  from 
her  eyes,  and  dried  her  cheeks.  She  put  her  knuckle 
to  her  lips  to  stay  their  quivering.  Then,  when  she 
had  recovered  some  composure,  she  drew  a  long  sigh 
and  replaced  the  sodden  kerchief  in  her  pocket. 

At  that  moment  she  started,  sprang  to  her  feet, 
searched  her  pocket  in  the  darkness  with  tremulous 
alarm,  with  sickness  at  her  heart. 

Then,  not  finding  what  she  wanted,  she  stooped  and 
groped  along  the  floor,  and  found  nothing  save  the 
flakes  of  fallen  whitewash. 

She  stood  up  panting,  and  put  her  hand  to  her  heart. 
Then  Jonas  entered  with  a  lantern,  and  saw  her  as  she 
thus  stood,  one  hand  to  her  brow,  thrusting  back  the 
hair,  the  other  to  her  heart ;  he  was  surprised,  raised 
his  lantern  to  throw  the  light  on  her  face,  and  said  : — 
"Wot'sup?" 

"  I  have  been  robbed  !  My  fifteen  pounds  have  been 
taken  from  me." 

"  Well ! " 

"  Jonas  !  "  she  said,  "  I  know  it  was  you.  It  was  you 
who  robbed  me,  where  those  men  robbed  my  father. 
Just  as  I  got  into  the  cart  you  robbed  me." 

He  lowered  the  lantern. 

"  Look  here,  Matabel,  mind  wot  I  said.     In  matri- 
mony it's  all  give   and  take,  and  if  there  ain't  give  on 
one  side,  then  there's  take,  take  on  the  tother.      I  ain't 
going  to  have  this  no  Paradise  if  I  can  help  it." 
7 


93  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  XV. 
IVER. 

Next  day  was  bright ;  but  already  some  rime  lay  in 
the  cold  and  marshy  bottom  of  the  Punch-Bowl. 

Mehetabel  went  round  the  farm  with  Bideabout,  and 
with  some  pride  he  showed  her  his  possessions,  his 
fields,  his  barn,  sheds  and  outhouses.  Amongst  these 
was  that  into  which  she  had  been  taken  on  the  night 
of  her  father's  murder. 

She  had  often  heard  the  story  from  Iver.  She  knew 
how  that  every  door  had  been  shut  against  her  except 
that  of  the  shed  in  which  the  heather  and  broom  steels 
were  kept  that  belonged  to  Jonas,  and  which  served  as 
his  workshop. 

With  a  strange  sense,  as  though  she  were  in  the 
hands  of  Fate  thrusting  her  on,  she  knew  not  whither, 
with  remorseless  cogency,  the  young  wife  looked  into 
the  dark  shed  which  had  received  her  eighteen  years 
before. 

It  was  wonderful  that  she  should  have  begun  the 
first  chapter  of  her  life  there,  and  that  she  should  return 
to  the  same  spot  to  open  the  second  chapter. 

She  felt  relieved  when  Jonas  left  her  to  herself.  Then 
she  at  once  set  to  work  on  the  house,  in  which  there 
was  much  to  be  done.  She  was  ambitious  to  get  it 
into  order  and  comfort  before  Mrs.  Verstage  came  to 
visit  her  in  her  new  quarters. 

As  she  worked,  her  mind  reverted  to  the  Ship. 
Would  she  be  missed  there?  Would  the  new  maid 
engaged  be  as  active  and  attentive  as  she  had  been  ? 
Her  place  in  the  hearts  of  the  old  couple  was  now 
occupied  by  Iver.  However  much  the  innkeeper  might 
pretend  to  be  hard  of  reconciliation,  yet  he  must  yearn 
after  his  own  son  ;  he  must  be  proud  of  him  now  that 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  99 

Iver  was  grown  so  fine  and  independent,  and  had  carved 
for  himself  a  place  in  the  world. 

When  the  first  feeling  of  regret  over  her  departure 
was  passed  away,  then  all  their  thoughts,  their  aspira- 
tions, their  pride  would  be  engrossed  by  Iver. 

Mehetabel  was  scouring  a  saucepan.  She  lowered  it, 
and  her  hands  remained  inactive.  Iver ! — she  saw  him, 
as  he  stood  before  her  in  the  Ship,  extending  his  hands 
to  her.     She  almost  felt  his  grasp  again. 

Mehetabel  brushed  back  the  hair  that  had  fallen 
over  her  face  ;  and  as  she  did  so  a  tear  ran  down  her 
cheek. 

Then  she  heard  her  husband's  voice  ;  he  was  speak- 
ing with  Samuel  Rocliffe,  his  nephew  ;  and  it  struck  her 
as  never  before,  how  harsh,  how  querulous  was  his 
intonation. 

During  the  day,  Mrs.  Rocliflfe  came  in,  looked  about 
inquisitively,  and  pursed  up  her  lips  when  she  saw  the 
change  effected,  and  conjectured  that  more  was  likely 
to  follow. 

**  I  suppose  nuthin*  is  good  enough  as  it  was — but 
you  must  put  everything  upside  down  ?  ** 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  am  setting  on  its  feet  everything 
I  have  found  topsy-turvy." 

To  the  great  surprise  of  all,  on  the  following  Sun- 
day, Bideabout,  in  his  best  suit,  accompanied  Mehet- 
abel to  church.  He  had  never  been  a  church-goer. 
He  begrudged  having  to  pay  tithes.  He  begrudged 
having  to  pay  something  for  his  seat  in  addition  to 
tithes  to  the  church,  if  he  went  to  a  dissenting  chapel. 
If  religious  ministrations  weren't  voluntary  and  gratui- 
tous, **then,"  said  Jonas,  "he  didn't  think  nuthin'  of 
'em." 

Jonas  had  been  disposed  to  scoff  at  religion,  and  to 
work  on  Sundays,  though  not  so  openly  as  on  other  days 
of  the  week.  He  went  to  church  now  because  he  was 
proud  of  his  wife  ;  not  out  of  devotion,  but  vanity. 

Some  days  later  arrived  a  little  tax-cart  driven  by 
Iver,  with  Mrs.  Verstage  in  it. 

The  hostess  had  already  discovered  what  a  difference 


loo  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE, 

it  made  in  her  establishment  to  have  in  it  a  raw  and 
dull-headed  maid  in  the  room  of  the  experienced  and 
intelligent  daughter.  She  did  not  regret  what  she  had 
done — she  had  removed  Mehetabel  out  of  the  reach  of 
Iver,  and  had  no  longer  any  anxiety  as  to  the  disposal 
of  his  property  by  Simon.  For  her  own  sake  she  was 
sorry,  as  she  plainly  saw  that  her  life  was  likely  to  run 
less  smoothly  in  the  future  in  her  kitchen  and  with  her 
guests.  Now  that  Mehetabel  was  no  longer  dangerous, 
her  heart  unfolded  towards  her  once  more. 

The  young  wife  received  Mrs.  Verstage  with  pleasure. 
The  flush  came  into  her  cheeks  when  she  saw  her,  and 
for  the  moment  she  had  no  eyes,  no  thoughts,  no 
welcome  for  Iver. 

The  landlady  was  not  so  active  as  of  old,  and  she  had 
to  be  assisted  from  her  seat.  As  soon  as  she  reached 
the  ground  she  was  locked  in  the  embrace  of  her  daugh- 
ter by  adoption. 

Then  Mehetabel  conducted  the  old  woman  over  the 
house,  and  showed  her  the  new  arrangements  she  had 
made,  and  consulted  her  on  certain  projected  altera- 
tions. 

Jonas  had  come  to  the  door  when  the  vehicle 
arrived  ;  he  was  in  his  most  gracious  mood,  and  saluted 
first  the  hostess  and  then  her  son,  with  unwonted  cor- 
diality. 

"  Come  now,  Matabel,"  said  Mrs.  Verstage,  when 
both  she  and  the  young  wife  were  alone  together,  "  I 
did  well  to  push  this  on,  eh  ?  You  have  a  decent 
house,  and  a  good  farm.  All  yours,  not  rented,  so 
none  can  turn  you  out.  What  more  could  you  desire  ? 
I  dare  be  sworn  Bideabout  has  got  a  pretty  nest  egg 
stuck  away  somewhere,  up  the  chimney  or  under  the 
hearth.  Has  he  shown  you  what  he  has  ?  There  was 
the  elder  Gilly  Cheel  was  a  terrible  skinflint.  When 
he  died  his  sons  hunted  high  and  low  for  his  money 
and  couldn't  find  it.  And  just  as  they  wos  goin'  to 
bury  him,  the  nuss  said  she  couldn't  make  a  bootiful 
corpse  of  him,  he  were  that  puffed  in  his  mouth.  What 
do  you  think,  Matabel  ?     The  old  chap  had  stuffed  his 


THE  BROOM-SQUlR^i  '"  iM' 

money  into  his  mouth  when  he  knew  he  was  dyin'. 
Didn't  want  nobody  to  have  it  but  himself.  Don't 
you  let  Bideabout  try  any  of  them  games." 

"  Have  you  missed  me  greatly,  dear  mother  ?  "  asked 
Mehetabel,  who  had  heard  the  story  'of  Giles  Cheel 
before. 

Mrs.  Verstage  sighed. 

**  My  dear,  do  you  know  the  iron-stone  bowl  as 
belonged  to  my  mother.  The  girl  broke  it,  and  hadn't 
the  honesty  to  say  so,  but  stuck  it  together  wi'  yaller 
soap,  and  thought  I  wouldn't  see  it.  Then  one  of  the 
customers  made  her  laugh,  and  she  let  seven  pewters 
fall,  and  they  be  battered  outrageous.  And  she  has 
been  chuckin'  the  heel  taps  to  the  hog,  and  made  him 
as  drunk  as  a  Christian.  She'll  driv«  me  out  of  my 
seven  senses." 

"  So  you  do  miss  me,  mother?  " 

"  My  dear — no — Tm  not  selfish.  It  is  all  for  your 
good.  There  wos  Martha  Lintott  was  goin'  to  a  dance, 
and  dropped  her  bustle.  Patty  Pickett  picked  it  up, 
and  thinkin'  she  couldn't  have  too  much  of  a  good 
thing,  clapped  it  on  a  top  of  her  own  and  cut  a  fine 
figure  wi*  it — wonderful.  And  Martha  looked  curious 
all  up  and  down  wi'out  one.  But  she  took  it  reason- 
able, and  said,  *  What's  one  woman's  loss  is  another 
woman's  gain.'  O,  my  dear  life  !  If  Iver  would  but 
settle  with  Polly  Colpus  I  should  die  content." 

"  Is  not  the  match  agreed  to  yet?" 

"  No !  "  Mrs.  Verstage  sighed.  "  I've  got  my  boy 
back,  but  not  for  long.  He  talks  of  remaining  here 
awhile  to  paint — subjects,  he  calls  'em,  but  he  don't 
rise  to  Polly  as  I  should  like.  Polly  is  a  good  girl. 
Master  Colpus  was  at  your  weddin',  and  was  very  civil 
to  Iver.  I  heard  him  invite  the  boy  to  come  over  and 
look  in  on  him  some  evening — Sunday,  for  instance, 
and  have  a  bite  of  supper  and  a  glass.  But  Iver  hasn't 
been  nigh  the  Colpuses  yet ;  and  when  I  press  him  to 
go  he  shrugs  his  shoulders  and  says  he  has  other  and 
better  friends  he  must  visit  first.*' 

Mrs.  Verstage  sighed  again. 


lo^^  THE.  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

''  Well,  perhaps  he  doesn't  fancy  Polly,"  said 
Mehetabel. 

"  Why  should  he  not  fancy  her?  She  will  have  five 
hundred  pounds,  and  old  James  Colpus's  land  adjoins 
ours.     I  don't  understand  Iver's  ways  at  all." 

Mehetabel  laughed.  "  Dear  mother,  you  cannot 
expect  that ;  he  did  not  think  with  his  father's  head 
when  a  boy.  He  will  think  only  with  his  own  head 
now  he  is  a  man." 

"  Look  here,  Matabel.  I'll  leave  Iver  to  you  for 
half-an-hour.  Show  him  the  cows.  I'll  make  Bide- 
about  take  me  to  his  sister.  I  want  to  have  it  out 
with  her  for  not  coming  to  the  wedding.  I'm  not  the 
person  to  let  these  things  pass.  Say  a  word  to  Iver 
about  Polly,  there  is  a  dear.  I  cannot  bring  them  to- 
gether, but  you  may,  you  are  so  clever." 

Meanwhile  Iver  and  Jonas  had  been  in  conversation. 
The  latter  had  been  somewhat  contemptuous  about 
the  profession  of  an  artist,  and  was  not  a  little  aston- 
ished when  he  heard  the  prices  realized  by  pictures. 
Iver  told  the  Broom-Squire  that  he  intended  making 
some  paintings  of  the  Punch-Bowl,  and  that  he  had  a 
mind  to  draw  Kink's  farm. 

In  that  case,  said  Bideabout,  a  percentage  of  the 
money  such  a  picture  fetched  would  be  due  to  him. 
He  didn't  see  that  anyone  had  a  right  to  take  a  por- 
trait of  his  house  and  not  pay  him  for  it.  If  Iver  were 
content  to  draw  his  house,  he  must,  on  no  account,  in- 
clude that  of  the  Rocliffes,  for  there  was  a  mort- 
gage on  that,  and  there  might  be  trouble  with  the 
lawyers. 

Mrs.  Verstage  proposed  to  Bideabout  that  she  should 
go  with  him  to  his  sister's  house,  and  he  consented. 

"  Look  here,  Matabel,"  said  he,  "  there  is  Mister 
Iver  thinks  he  can  make  a  pictur*  of  the  spring,  if  you'll 
get  a  pitcher  and  stand  by  it.  I  dare  say  if  it  sells, 
he'll  not  forget  us." 

"  I  wish  I  could  take  Mehetabel  and  her  pitcher  off 
your  hands,  and  not  merely  the  portrait  of  both," 
laughed  Iver,  to  cover  the  confusion  of  the  girl,  who 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  103 

reddened  with  annoyance  at  the  grasping  meanness  of 
Jonas. 

When  Iver  was  alone  with  her,  as  they  were  on  their 
way  to  the  spring,  he  said,  "  Come,  this  will  not  do  at 
all.  For  the  first  time  we  are  free  to  chat  together,  as 
in  the  old  times  when  we  were  inseparable  friends. 
Why  are  you  shy  now,  Matabel  ?  " 

"  You  must  be  glad  to  be  home  again  with  the  dear 
father  and  mother,'*  she  said. 

"  Yes,  but  I  miss  you ;  and  I  had  so  reckoned  on 
finding  you  there." 

"  You  will  remain  at  the  Ship  now,**  urged  she. 

"  I  don't  know  that.  I  have  my  profession.  I  have 
leisure  during  part  of  the  summer  and  fall,  making 
studies  for  pictures — but  I  take  pupils  ;  they  pay." 

"You  must  consider  the  old  folk." 

"  I  do.  I  will  visit  them  occasionally.  But  art  is  a 
mistress,  and  an  imperious  one.  When  one  is  married 
one  is  no  longer  independent." 

"  You  are  married  ?  **  asked  Mehetabel,  with  a  flush 
in  her  cheeks. 

"  Yes,  to  my  art." 

"  Oh !  to  paints  and  brushes !  Tell  me  true,  Iver ! 
Has  no  girl  won  your  heart  whilst  you  have  been  from 
home?'* 

"  I  have  found  many  to  admire,  but  my  heart  is  free. 
I  have  had  no  time  to  think  of  girls'  faces — save  as 
studies.  Art  is  a  mistress  as  jealous  as  she  is  exact- 
ing." 

Mehetabel  drew  a  long  breath.  There  went  up  a 
flash  of  light  in  her  mind,  for  which  she  did  not  attempt 
to  account.  "  You  are  free — that  is  famous,  and  can 
take  Polly  Colpus." 

Then  she  laughed,  and  Iver  laughed. 

They  laughed  long  and  merrily  together. 

"  This  is  too  much,"  exclaimed  Iver.  *'  At  home 
father  is  at  me  to  exchange  the  mahl-stick  for  an  ox- 
goad,  and  mother  wearies  me  with  laudation  of  Polly 
Colpus.  I  shall  revolt  and  run  away,  as  I  did  not  ex- 
pect you  to  lend  a  hand  with  Polly." 


104  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

**  You  must  not  run  away,"  said  Mehetabel,  earnestly. 
"  Iver !  I  was  all  those  years  at  the  Ship,  with  mother, 
after  you  went,  and  I  have  seen  how  her  heart  has 
ached  for  you.  She  is  growing  old.  Let  her  have 
consolation  during  the  years  that  remain  for  the  sorrow 
of  those  that  are  past." 

"  I  cannot  take  to  farming,  nor  turn  publican,  and  I 
will  not  have  Polly  Colpus." 

"  Here  is  the  spring,**  said  Mehetabel. 

She  set  the  pitcher  beside  the  water,  leaned  back  in 
the  hedge,  musing,  with  her  finger  to  her  chin,  her 
eyes  on  the  ground,  and  her  feet  crossed. 

"■  Stand  as  you  are.  That  is  perfect.  Do  not  stir. 
I  will  make  a  pencil  sketch.'* 

The  spring  gushed  from  under  a  bank,  in  a  clear  and 
copious  jet.  It  had  washed  away  the  sand,  and  had 
buried  itself  in  a  nook  among  ferns  and  moss.  On  the 
top  of  the  bank  was  a  rude  shed,  open  at  the  side,  with 
a  cart  at  rest  in  it.  Wild  parsnips  in  full  flower  nodded 
before  the  water. 

"  I  could  desire  nothing  better,**  said  Iver,  *'  and 
that  pale  blue  skirt  of  yours,  the  white  stockings,  the 
red  kerchief  round  your  head — in  color  as  in  arrange- 
ment everything  is  admirable.** 

"  You  have  not  your  paints  with  you.*' 

*'  I  will  come  another  day  and  bring  them.  Now  I 
will  only  sketch  in  the  outline." 

Presently  Iver  laughed.  "  Matabel !  If  I  took  Polly 
she  would  be  of  no  use  to  me  whatever,  not  even  as  a 
model." 

Presently  the  Broom-Squire  returned  with  Mrs. 
Verstage,  and  looked  over  the  shoulder  of  the  artist. 

*'  Not  done  much,"  he  said. 

"  I  shall  have  to  come  again  and  yet  again,  to  put  in 
the  color,"  said  Iver. 

"  Come  when  and  as  often  as  you  like,"  said  Bide- 
about.  Neither  of  the  men  noticed  the  shrinking  that 
affected  the  entire  frame  of  Mehetabel,  as  Jonas  said 
these  words,  but  it  was  observed  by  Mrs.  Verstage,  and 
a  shade  of  anxiety  swept  over  her  face. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  105 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

AGAIN-IVER. 

A  FEW  days  after  this  first  visit,  Iver  was  again  at 
the  Kinks'  farm. 

The  weather  was  fine,  and  he  protested  that  he  must 
take  advantage  of  it  to  proceed  with  his  picture. 

Mehetabel  was  reluctant  to  stand.  She  made  excuses 
that  were  at  once  put  aside. 

^'  If  you  manage  to  sell  pictures  of  our  place,"  said 
Bideabout,  "  our  Punch-Bowl  may  get  a  name,  and 
folk  come  here  picnicking  from  Godalming  and  Guild- 
ford and  Portsmouth  ;  and  I'll  put  up  a  board  with 
*  Refreshments — Moderate,'  over  the  door,  and  Matabel 
shall  make  tea  or  sell  cake,  and  pick  up  a  trifle  towards 
housekeeping." 

A  month  was  elapsed  since  Mehetabel's  marriage, 
the  month  of  honey  to  most — one  of  empty  comb  with- 
out sweetness  to  her.  She  had  drawn  no  nearer  to  her 
husband  than  before.  They  had  no  interests,  no  tastes 
in  common.  They  saw  all  objects  through  a  different 
medium. 

It  was  not  a  matter  of  concern  to  Mehetabel  that  she 
was  left  much  alone  by  Jonas,  and  that  her  sister-in- 
law  and  the  rest  of  the  squatters  treated  her  as  an  in- 
terloper. 

As  a  child,  at  the  Ship,  without  associates  of  her 
own  age,  after  Iver's  departure,  she  had  lived  much  to 
herself,  and  now  her  Soul  craved  for  solitude.  And 
■yet,  when  she  was  alone  the  thoughts  of  her  heart 
troubled  her.  • 

Jonas  was  attached,  in  his  fashion,  to  his  beautiful 
wife ;  he  joked,  and  was  effusive  in  his  expressions  of 


io6  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

affection.  But  she  did  not  respond  to  his  jokes,  and 
his  demonstrations  of  affection  repelled  her.  Jonas 
was  too  dull,  or  vain,  to  perceive  this,  and  he  attributed 
her  coldness  to  modesty,  real  or  affected,  probably  the 
latter. 

Mehetabel  shrank  from  looking  full  in  the  face,  the 
thought  that  she  must  spend  the  rest  of  her  life  with 
this  man.  She  was  well  aware  that  she  could  not  love 
him,  could  hardly  bring  herself  to  like  him,  the  utmost 
she  could  hope  was  that  she  might  arrive  at  enduring 
him. 

Whilst  in  this  condition  of  unrest  and  discourage- 
ment, Iver  appeared,  and  his  presence  lit  up  the  desola- 
tion in  which  she  was.  The  sight  of  him,  the  sound  of 
his  voice,  aroused  old  recollections,  helped  to  drive  away 
the  shadows  that  environed  her,  and  that  clouded  her 
mind.  There  was  no  harm  in  this,  and  yet  she  was  un- 
easy. Cheerful  as  she  was  when  he  was  present,  there 
was  something  feverish  in  this  cheerfulness,  and  it  left 
her  more  unhappy  than  before  when  he  was  gone,  and 
more  conscious  of  the  impossibility  of  accommodating 
herself  to  her  lot. 

The  visit  on  one  fine  day  was  followed  by  another 
when  the  rain  fell  heavily. 

Iver  entered  the  house,  shook  his  wet  hat  and  cloak, 
and  with  a  laugh,  exclaimed — 

'*  Here  I  am — to  continue  the  picture." 

"  In  such  weather  ?  '* 

"  Little  woman  !  When  I  started  the  wind  was  in 
the  right  quarter.  All  at  once  it  veered  round  and 
gave  me  a  drenching.  What  odds  ?  You  can  stand  at 
the  window,  and  I  can  proceed  with  the  figure.  It  was 
tedious  at  the  Ship.  Between  you  and  me  and  the 
post,  I  cannot  get  along  with  the  fellows  who  come 
there  to  drink.  You  are  the  only  person  in  Thursley 
with  whom  I  can  talk  and  be  happy." 

"  Bideabout  is  not  at  home.** 

"  I  didn't  come  through  the  rain  to  see  Bideabout, 
but  you." 

'*  Will  you  have  anything  to  eat  or  drink?" 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  107 

"  Anything  that  you  can  give  me.  But  I  did  not 
come  for  that.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  think  I'll 
venture  on  the  picture.  The  light  is  so  bad.  It  is  of 
no  consequence.  We  can  converse.  ,  I  am  sick  of 
public-house  talk.  I  ran  away  to  be  with  you.  We 
are  old  chums,  are  we  not,  dear  Matabel  ?  " 

A  fire  of  peat  was  on  the  hearth.  She  threw  on  skin- 
turf  that  flamed  up. 

Iver  was  damp.  His  hands  were  clammy.  His  hair 
ends  dripped.  His  face  was  running  with  water.  He 
spread  his  palms  over  the  flame,  and  smiled. 

"  And  so  you  were  tired  of  being  at  home  ?  "  she 
said,  as  she  put  the  turves  together. 

"  Home  is  no  home  to  me,  now  you  are  gone,"  was 
his  answer. 

Then,  after  a  pause,  during  which  he  chafed  his  hands 
over  the  dancing  flame,  he  added  :  *'  I  wish  you  were 
back  in  the  old  Ship.  The  old  Ship  !  It  is  no  longer 
the  dear  old  Ship  of  my  recollections,  now  that  you 
have  deserted.  Why  did  you  leave  ?  It  is  strange  to 
me  that  my  mother  did  not  write  and  tell  me  that  you 
were  going  to  be  married.     If  she  had  done  that " 

He  continued  drying  his  hands,  looking  dreamily  into 
the  flame,  and  left  the  sentence  incomplete. 

"  It  is  queer  altogether,"  he  pursued.  ''  When  I  told 
her  I  was  at  Guildford,  and  proposed  returning,  she  put 
me  off,  till  my  father  was  better  prepared.  She  would 
break  the  news  to  him,  see  how  he  took  it,  and  so  on. 
I  waited,  heard  no  more,  so  came  unsummoned,  for  I 
was  impatient  at  the  delay^  She  knew  I  wished  to 
hear  about  you,  Mattee,  dear  old  friend  and  playmate. 
I  asked  in  my  letters  about  you.  You  know  you  ceased 
to  write,  and  mother  labored  at  the  pen  herself,  finally. 
She  answered  that  you  were  well — nothing  further. 
Why  did  she  not  tell  me  of  your  engagement  ?  Have 
you  any  idea,  Matabel  ?  " 

She  bowed  over  the  turf,  to  hide  her  face,  but  the 
leaping  flame  revealed  the  color  that  mantled  cheek, 
and  throat,  and  brow.  Her  heart  was  beating  furi- 
ously. 


io8  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

"  That  marriage  seems  to  me  to  have  been  cobbled 
up  precious  quickly.  Were  you  so  mighty  impatient 
to  have  the  Broom-Squire  that  you  could  not  wait  till 
you  were  twenty  ?  A  girl  of  eighteen  does  not  know 
her  own  mind.  A  pretty  kettle  of  fish  there  will  be  if 
you  discover,  when  too  late,  that  you  have  made  a  mis- 
take, and  married  the  wrong  man,  who  can  never  make 
you  happy." 

Mehetabel  started  upright,  and  went  with  heaving 
bosom  to  the  window,  then  drew  back  in  surprise,  for 
she  saw  the  face  of  Mrs.  Rocliffe  at  the  pane,  her  nose 
applied  to  and  flattened  against  the  glass,  and  looking 
like  a  dab  of  putty. 

She  was  offended  at  the  woman's  inquisitiveness, 
and  went  to  the  door  to  inquire  if  she  needed  any- 
thing. 

'*  Nuthin'  at  all,"  answered  Sarah,  with  a  laugh, 
"  except  to  see  whether  my  brother  was  home.  It's 
early  days  beginning  this,  I  call  it." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nuthin'." 

"  Iver  is  here,"  said  Mehetabel,  controlling  herself. 
"  Will  you  please  to  come  in  ?  " 

"  But  Jonas  is  not,  is  he  ?  " 

*'  No  ;  he  has  gone  to  Squire  Mellers  about  a  load  of 
stable-brooms." 

"  I  wouldn't  come  in  on  no  account,"  said  Mrs.  Ro- 
cliffe. "  Two's  company,  three's  none,"  and  she  turned 
and  departed. 

After  she  had  shut  the  door  Mehetabel  went  hastily 
through  the  kitchen  into  the  scullery  at  the  back. 
Her  face  was  crimson,  and  she  trembled  in  all  her 
joints. 

Iver  called  to  her ;  she  answered  hastily  that  she 
was  engaged,  and  presently,  after  she  had  put  bread 
and  cake  and  butter  on  the  table,  she  fled  to  her  own 
room  upstairs,  seated  herself  on  a  chair,  and  hid  her 
burning  face  in  her  apron.  .  . 

The  voice  of  her  husband  below  afforded  sensible 
relief  to  her  in  her  mortification.     He  was  speaking  with 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  109 

Iver ;  cursing  the  weather  and  his  bad  luck.  His  long 
tramp  in  the  rain  had  been  to  no  purpose.  The  Squire, 
to  whose  house  he  had  been,  was  out.  She  washed  her 
face,  combed  and  smoothed  her  hair,  and  slowly  de- 
scended the  stairs. 

On  seeing  her  Jonas  launched  forth  in  complaints, 
and  showed  himself  to  be  in  an  evil  temper.  He  must 
have  ale,  not  wish-wash  tea,  fit  only  for  old  women. 
He  would  not  stuff  himself  with  cake  like  a  school 
child.     He  must  have  ham  fried  for  him  at  once. 

He  was  in  an  irritable  mood,  and  found  fault  with  his 
wife  about  trifles,  or  threw  out  sarcastic  remarks  that 
wounded,  and  made  Iver  boil  with  indignation.  Jonas 
did  not  seem  to  bear  the  young  artist  a  grudge ;  he 
was,  in  fact,  pleased  to  see  him,  and  proposed  to  him 
to  stay  the  evening  and  have  a  game  of  cards. 

It  was  distressing  to  Mehetabel  to  be  rebuked  in 
public,  but  she  made  no  rejoinder.  Jonas  had  seized 
on  the  opportunity  to  let  his  visitor  see  that  he  was 
not  tied  to  his  wife's  apron  string,  but  was  absolute 
master  in  his  own  house.  The  blood  mounted  to  Iver's 
brow,  and  he  clenched  his  hands  under  the  table. 

To  relieve  the  irksomeness  of  the  situation  Iver  pro- 
ceeded to  undo  a  case  of  his  colored  sketches  that  he 
had  brought  with  him. 

These  water-colors  were  charming  in  their  style,  a 
style  much  affected  at  that  period  ;  the  tints  were 
stippled  in,  and  every  detail  given  with  minute  fidelity. 
The  revolution  in  favor  of  the  blottesque  had  not  yet 
set  in,  and  the  period  was  happily  far  removed  from 
that  of  the  impressionist,  who  veils  his  incapacity  under 
a  term — an  impression,  and  calls  a  daub  a  picture. 
Nature  never  daubs,  never  strains  after  effects.  She  is 
painstaking,  delicate  in  her  work,  and  reticent. 

Whilst  Mehetabel  was  engaged  frying  ham,  Iver 
showed  his  drawings  to  the  Broom-Squire,  who  treated 
them  without  perception  of  their  beauty,  and  valued 
-them  solely  as  merchandise.  But  when  supper  was 
ready,  and  whilst  Jonas  was  eating,  he  had  a  more  in- 
terested and  appreciative  observer. in  Mehetabel,  to 


no  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

whom  the  drawings  afforded  unfeigned  pleasure.  In 
her  delight  she  sat  close  to  Iver ;  her  warm  breath 
played  over  his  cheek,  as  he  held  up  the  sketches  to 
the  light,  and  pointed  out  the  details  of  interest. 

Once  when  these  were  minute,  and  she  had  to  look 
closely  to  observe  them,  in  the  poor  light  afforded  by 
the  candle,  without  thinking  what  he  was  about,  Iver 
put  his  hand  on  her  neck.  She  started,  and  he  with- 
drew it.  The  action  was  unobserved  by  Bideabout, 
who  was  engrossed  in  his  rasher. 

When  Jonas  had  finished  his  meal,  he  thrust  his 
plate  away,  produced  a  pack  of  cards,  and  said — 

"  Here,  Mr.  Iver,  are  pictures  worth  all  of  yours. 
Will  you  come  and  try  your  luck  or  skill  against  me  ? 
We'll  have  a  sup  of  brandy  together.  Matabel,  bring 
glasses  and  hot-water." 

Iver  went  to  the  door  and  looked  out.  The  rain 
descended  in  streams  ;  so  he  returned  to  the  table,  drew 
up  his  chair  and  took  a  hand. 

When  Mehetabel  had  washed  the  plates  and  dishes 
used  at  the  meal,  she  seated  herself  where  she  could 
see  by  the  candle-light,  took  up  her  needlework,  and 
was  prepared  to  snuff  the  wick  as  was  required. 

Iver  found  that  he  could  not  fix  his  attention  on  the 
game.  Whenever  Mehetabel  raised  her  hand  for  the 
snuffers,  he  made  a  movement  to  forestall  her,  then 
sometimes  their  eyes  met,  and  she  lowered  hers  in  con- 
fusion. 

The  artistic  nature  of  Iver  took  pleasure  in  the  beau- 
tiful ;  and  the  features,  coloring,  grace  of  the  young 
Broom-Squiress,  were  such  as  pleased  him  and  engaged 
his  attention.  He  made  no  attempt  to  analyze  his 
feelings  towards  her.  He  was  not  one  to  probe  his 
own  heart,  nor  had  he  the  resolution  to  break  away 
from  temptation,  even  when  recognized  as  such.  Easy- 
going, good-natured,  impulsive,  with  a  spice  of  his 
mother's  selfishness  in  his  nature,  he  allowed  himself  to 
follow  his  inclinations  without  consideration  whither 
they  might  lead  him,  and  how  they  might  affect  others. 

Iver's  eyes,  thoughts,  were  distracted  from  the  game. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  iii 

He  lost  money — five  shillings,  and  Jonas  urged  him  to 
play  for  higher  stakes. 

Then  Mehetabel  laid  her  needlework  in  her  lap,  and 
said — 

**  No,  Iver,  do  not.  You  have  played  Sufficiently,  and 
have  lost  enough.     Go  home." 

Jonas  swore  at  her. 

**  What  is  that  to  you  ?  We  may  amuse  ourselves 
without  your  meddling.  What  odds  to  you  if  he  loses, 
so  long  as  I  win.     I  am  your  husband  and  not  he." 

But  Iver  rose,  and  laughingly  said : — 

"■  Better  go  home  with  a  wet  jacket  than  with  all 
the  money  run  out  of  my  pocket.  Good-night,  Bide- 
about." 

"  Have  another  shot  ?  " 

"  Not  another." 

"  She  put  you  up  to  this,"  with  a  spiteful  glance  at 
Mehetabel. 

"  Not  a  bit,  Jonas.  Don't  you  think  a  chap  feels 
he's  losing  blood,  without  being  told  he  is  getting  white 
about  the  gills." 

The  Broom-Squire  sulkily  began  to  gather  up  the 
cards. 

"  What  sort  of  a  night  is  it,  Mehetabel  ?  Go  to 
the  door  and  see,"  said  he. 

The  girl  rose  and  opened  the  door. 

Without,  the  night  was  black  as  pitch,  and  in  the 
light  that  issued  the  raindrops  glittered  as  they  fell.  In 
the  trees,  in  the  bushes,  on  the  grass,  was  the  rustle  of 
descending  rain. 

"  By  Jove,  it's  worse  than  ever,"  said  Iver:  "lend 
me  a  lantern,  or  I  shall  never  reach  home." 

"  I  haven't  one  to  spare,"  replied  Bideabout ;  "  the 
hogs  and  calves  must  be  tended,  and  the  horse.  Old 
Clutch,  littered  down.  Best  way  that  you  have  another 
game  with  me,  and  you  shall  stay  the  night.  We  have 
a  spare  room  and  bed." 

''  I  accept  with  readiness,"  said  Iver. 

''  Go— get  all  ready,  Matabel  Now,  then  !  you  eut, 
I  deal." 


lu  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

DREAMS. 

IVER  remained  the  night  in  the  little  farm-house. 
He  thought  nothing  as  he  lay  in  bed  of  the  additional 
shillings  he  had  lost  to  Jonas,  but  of  the  inestimable 
loss  he  had  sustained  in  Mehetabel. 

The  old  childish  liking  he  had  entertained  for  her 
revived.  It  did  more  than  revive,  it  acquired  strength 
and  heat.  As  a  boy  he  had  felt  some  pride  and  self- 
consequence  because  of  the  child  whom  he  had  intro- 
duced into  the  Christian  Church,  and  to  whom  he  had 
given  a  name.  Now  he  was  elated  to  think  that  she 
was  the  most  beautiful  woman  he  had  seen,  and  angry 
with  the  consciousness  that  she  was  snatched  from  him. 

Why  had  he  not  returned  to  Thursley  a  day,  half  a 
day,  earlier  ?  Why  had  Fate  played  such  a  cruel  game 
with  him  ?  What  a  man  this  Jonas  Kink  was  who  had 
won  the  prize.  Was  he  worthy  of  it  ?  Did  he  value 
Mehetabel  as  he  should  ?  A  fellow  who  could  not 
perceive  beauty  in  a  landscape  and  see  the  art  in  his 
drawings  was  not  one  to  know  that  his  wife  was  lovely, 
or  if  he  knew  it  did  so  in  a  stupid,  unappreciative  man- 
ner. Did  he  treat  Mehetabel  kindly  ;  with  ordinary 
civility?  Iver  remembered  the  rebukes,  the  slights  put 
on  her  in  his  own  presence. 

Iver's  bedroom  was  neat,  everything  in  it  clean.  The 
bed  was  one  of  those  great  tented  fourposters  which 
were  at  the  time  much  affected  in  Surrey,  composed  of 
covering  and  curtains  of  striped — or  pranked — cotton, 
blue  and  white.  Mehetabel,  in  the  short  while  she  had 
been  in  the  Punch-Bowl,  had  put  the  spare  room  in 
order.  She  had  found  it  used  as.  a  place  for  lumber, 
every  article  of  furniture  deep  in  dust,  and  every  cur- 
tain rent.  The  corners  of  the  room  had  been  giv-en 
over  for  twenty  years  as  the  happy  hunting-ground  of 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  113 

spiders.  Although  Bideabout  had  taken  some  pains 
to  put  his  house  in  order  before  his  marriage,  repairs 
had  been  executed  only  on  what  was  necessary,  and  in  a 
parsimonious  spirit.  The  spare  room  had  been  passed 
over,  as  not  likely  to  be  needed.  To  that  as  to  every 
other  portion  of  the  house,  Mehetabel  had  turned  her 
attention,  and  it  was  now  in  as  good  condition  to  re- 
ceive a  guest  as  the  bedrooms  in  the  Ship  Inn. 

Presently  Iver  went  to  sleep,  lulled  by  the  patter  of 
the  rain  on  the  roof,  on  the  leaves,  and  the  sobbing  of 
the  moist  wind  through  the  ill-adjusted  casement. 

As  he  slept  he  had  a  dream. 

He  thought  that  he  heard  Thursley  Church  bells 
ringing.  He  believed  he  had  been  to  church  to  be 
married.  He  was  in  his  hoHday  attire,  and  was  holding 
his  bride  by  the  hand.  He  turned  about  to  see  who 
was  his  partner,  and  recognized  Mehetabel.  She  was 
in  white,  but  whiter  than  her  dress  and  veil  was  her 
bloodless  face,  and  her  dark  brows  and  hair  marked  it 
as  with  mourning. 

There  was  this  strange  element  in  his  dream,  that  he 
could  not  leave  the  churchyard. 

He  endeavored  to  follow  the  path  to  the  gate,  out- 
side which  the  villagers  were  awaiting  them  with 
flowers  and  ready  to  cheer  ;  but  he  was  unable  to  reach 
it.  The  path  winded  in  and  out  among  the  grave- 
stones, and  round  and  round  the  church,  till  at  length 
it  reached  the  tomb  of  the  murdered  sailor. 

All  the  while  the  ringers  were  endeavoring  to  give  the 
young  bridal  pair  a  merry  peal,  and  failed.  The  ropes 
slid  from  their  hands,  and  only  the  sexton  succeeded 
in  securing  one,  and  with  that  he  tolled.  Distinctly 
Iver  saw  the  familiar  carving  of  the  three  murderers 
robbing  and  killing  their  victim.  He  had  often  laughed 
over  the  bad  drawing  of  the  figures — he  laughed  now, 
in  sleep. 

Then  he  thought  that  he  heard  Mehetabel  reproach 
him  for  having  returned,  to  be  her  woe.  And  that  be- 
tween each  sentence  she  sobbed. 

Thereupon  he  again  looked  at  her. 

She  was  beautiful,  more  beautiful  than  ever — a 
8 


114  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

beauty  sublimated,  rendered  almost  transparent.  As 
he  looked  she  became  paler,  and  the  hand  he  held  grew 
colder.     Now  ensued  a  strange  phenomenon. 

She  was  sinking.  Her  feet  disappeared  in  the  spongy 
turf,  that  oozed  with  water  after  the  long  rain.  Her 
large  dark  eyes  were  fixed  on  him  entreatingly,  re- 
proachfully. 

Then  she  was  enveloped  to  her  knees,  and  as  she 
v/ent  down,  the  stain  of  the  wet  grass  and  the  soil  of 
the  graveyard  clay  rose  an  inch  up  her  pure  white  gar- 
ment. 

She  held  his  hand  tenaciously,  as  the  only  thing 
to  which  she  could  cling  to  save  her  from  being  wholly 
engulfed. 

Then  she  was  swallowed  up  to  her  waist,  and  he  be- 
came aware  that  if  he  continued  to  clasp  her  hand,  she 
would  drag  him  under  the  earth.  In  his  dream  he 
reasoned  with  her.  He  pointed  out  to  her  that  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  be  of  any  service  to  her,  and  that 
he  was  jeopardizing  his  own  self,  unless  he  disengaged 
himself  from  her. 

He  endeavored  to  release  his  hand.  She  clung  the 
more  obstinately,  her  fingers  were  deadly  cold  and 
numbed  him,  yet  he  was  resolute  in  self-defence,  and 
finally  freed  his  hand.  Then  she  sank  more  rapidly, 
with  despair  in  the  upturned  face.  He  tried  to  escape 
her  eyes,  he  could  not.  It  was  a  satisfaction  to  him 
when  the  rank  grass  closed  over  them  and  got  between 
the  lips  that  were  opened  in  appeal  for  help.  Then 
ensued  a  gulp.  The  earth  had  swallowed  her  up,  and 
in  dream,  he  was  running  for  his  pallet  and  canvas  to 
make  a  study  of  the  spot  where  she  had  sunk,  in  a 
peculiarly  favorable  light.  He  woke,  shivering,  and 
saw  that  the  gray  morning  was  looking  in  at  his 
window  between  the  white  curtains. 

His  hand,  that  had  felt  so  chill,  was  out  of  the  bed, 
and  the  coverlet  had  sHd  off  him,  and  was  heaped  on 
the  floor. 

The  wind  had  shifted,  and  now  pressed  the  clouds 
together,  rolled  them  up  and  swept  them  into  the 
lumber-house  of  clouds  below  the  horizon.     He  dressed 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  115 

leisurely,  shook  himself,  to  shake  off  the  impression 
produced  by  his  dream,  and  laughed  at  himself  for 
having  been  disturbed  by  it. 

When  he  came  downstairs  he  found,  that  both  Mehet- 
abel  and  Jonas  were  ajready  on  their  feet,  and  that  the 
former  was  preparing  breakfast.  Her  eyes  were  red,  as 
if  she  had  been  crying. 

"  How  did  you  sleep  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  faint  smile 
— *'  and  what  were  your  dreams  ?  " 

"  They  say  that  the  first  dream  in  new  quarters 
comes  true,"  threw  in  the  Broom-Squire  ;  "  but  this  is 
the  idle  chatter  of  old  wives.     I  make  no  count  of  it." 

Mehetabel  observed  that  Iver  started  and  seemed 
disconcerted  at  this  question  relative  to  his  dream. 
He  evaded  an  answer,  and  she  saw  that  the  topic  was 
unpleasant,  and  to  reply  inconvenient.  She  said  no 
more  ;  and  Jonas  had  other  matters  to  think  about 
more  substantial  than  dreams.  Yet  Mehetabel  could 
not  fail  to  perceive  that  their  guest  was  out  of  tune. 
Was  he  annoyed  at  having  lost  money,  or  was  he  in 
reality  troubled  by  something  that  had  occurred  dur- 
ing the  night  ?     An  hour  later  Iver  prepared  to  leave. 

"  Come  with  me  a  little  way,"  he  pleaded  with  the 
hostess,  "  see  me  safe  off  the  premises." 

She  did  as  was  desired,  though  not  without  inner 
reluctance.  And  yet,  at  the  same  time  she  felt  that 
with  his  departure  a  something  would  be  gone  that 
could  not  be  replaced,  a  light  out  of  her  sky,  a  strain  of 
music  out  of  her  soul. 

The  white  fog  lay  like  curd  at  the  bottom  of  the 
Punch-Bowl.  Here  and  there  a  tree-top  stood  above 
the  vapor,  but  only  as  a  bosky  islet  in  the  surface  of 
mist,  dense  and  chill.  The  smoke  from  the  chimneys 
of  the  squatter  houses  rose  like  steaming  springs,  but 
the  brick  chimneys  were  submerged.  So  dense  was  the 
fog  that  it  muffled  all  sound,  impeded  the  breath,  struck 
cold  to  the  marrow.  It  smelt,  for  the  savors  of  hog- 
pen and  cowstall  were  caught  and  not  allowed  to  dis- 
sipate. 

A  step,  and  those  ascending  the  side  of  the  great 
basin  were  out  of  the  mist,  and  in  sunshine,  but  it  still  held 


ii6  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

their  feet  to  the  knees  ;  another  step  and  they  were  clear, 
and  then  their  shadows  were  cast,  gigantic,  upon  the 
white  surface  below,  and  about  each  head  was  a  halo  of 
light  and  rainbow  tints. 

Every  bush  was  twinkling  as  hung  with  diamonds  of 
the  purest  water.  Larks  were  trilling,  pouring  forth 
in  song  the  ecstasy  that  swelled  their  hearts.  The  sky 
was  blue  as  a  nemophyla,  and  cloudless. 

As  soon  as  Iver  and  Mehetabel  had  issued  from  the 
fog  and  were  upon  the  heath,  and  in  the  sunshine,  she 
stayed  her  feet. 

"  I  will  go  no  further,'*  she  said. 

"  Look,"  said  he,  '*how  the  fog  Hes  below  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  Punch-Bowl,  as  though  it  were  snow. 
Above,  on  the  downs  all  is  sunshine." 

**  Yes,  you  go  up  into  the  light  and  warmth,"  an- 
swered she.  "  I  must  back  and  down  into  the  cold 
vapors,  cold  as  death." 

He  thought  of  his  dream.  There  was  despondency 
in  her  tone. 

**  The  sun  will  pierce  and  scatter  the  vapors  and  shine 
over  and  warm  you  below." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Iver,"  she  said,  **  you  may  tell  me  now  we  are  alone. 
What  was  your  dream  ?  " 

Again  he  appeared  disconcerted. 

"  Of  what,  of  whom  did  you  dream  ?  " 

"  Of  whom  else  could  I  dream  but  you — when  under 
your  roof,"  said  he  with  a  laugh. 

"  Oh,  Iver  !  and  what  did  you  dream  about  me?  " 

"  Arrant  nonsense.     Dreams  go  by  contraries." 

"  Then  what  about  me  ?" 

"  I  dreamt  of  your  marriage." 

"  Then  that  means  death." 

He  caught  her  to  him,  and  kissed  her  lips. 

"  We  are  brother  and  sister,"  he  said,  in  self-excul- 
pation.    **  Where  is  the  harm  ?  " 

She  disengaged  herself  hastily. 

She  heard  a  cough  and  looked  round,  to  see  the 
mocking  face  of  Sarah  Rocliffe,  who  had  followed  and 
had  just  emerged  from  the  curdling  fog  below. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  117 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

REALITIES. 

IVER  was  gone. 

The  light  that  had  sparkled  in  Mehetabel's  eyes,  the 
flush,  like  a  carnation  in  her  cheek,  faded  at  once. 
She  was  uneasy  that  Mrs.  Rocliffe  had  surprised  her 
and  Iver,  whilst  he  gave  her  that  ill-considered  though 
innocent  parting  salute. 

What  mischief  she  might  make  of  it !  How  she 
might  sow  suspicion  of  her  in  the  heart  of  Jonas,  and 
Iver  would  be  denied  the  house !  Iver  denied  the 
house !  Then  she  would  see  him  no  more,  have  no 
more  pleasant  conversations  with  him.  Indeed,  then 
the  cold,  clammy  fog  into  which  she  descended  was  a 
figure  of  the  life  hers  would  be,  and  it  was  one  that  no 
sun's  rays  could  dissipate. 

After  she  had  returned  to  the  house  she  sank  in  a 
dark  corner  like  one  weary  after  hard  labor,  and  looked 
dreamily  before  her  at  the  floor.  Her  hands  and  her 
feet  were  motionless. 

A  smile  that  every  moment  became  more  bitter  sat 
on  her  lips.  The  muscles  of  her  face  became  more 
rigid. 

What  if  through  jealousy,  open  discord  broke  out 
between  her  and  Jonas?  Would  it  make  her  condition 
more  miserable,  her  outlook  more  desperate?  She 
revolved  in  thought  the  events  that  were  past.  She 
ranged  them  in  their  order — the  proposal  of  Jonas,  her 
refusal,  the  humiliation  to  which  she  had  been  subjected 
by  Mrs.  Verstage  which  had  driven  her  to  accept  the 
man  she  had  just  rejected,  the  precipitation  with  which 
the  marriage  had  been  hurried  on,  then  the  appearance 
of  Iver  on  her  wedding  day. 

She  recalled  the  look  that  passed  over  his  face  when 


ii8  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

informed  that  she  was  a  bride,  the  clasp  of  his  hands, 
and  now — now — his  kiss  burned  on  her  lips,  nay,  had 
sunk  in  as  a  drop  of  liquid  fire,  and  was  consuming  her 
heart  with  anguish  and  sweetness  combined. 

Was  the  kiss  that  of  a  brother  to  a  sister  ?  Was 
there  in  it,  as  Iver  said,  no  harm,  no  danger  to  herself  ? 
She  thought  of  the  journey  home  from  the  Ship  on  her 
wedding  evening,  of  the  fifteen  pounds  of  which  she 
had  been  robbed  by  her  husband,  the  money  given  her 
by  **  father "  against  the  evil  day.  She  had  been 
deceived,  defrauded  by  the  man  she  had  sworn  to  hon- 
or, love,  and  obey.  She  had  not  acquired  love  for 
him.  Had  he  not  by  this  act  forfeited  all  claim  to  both 
love  and  honor  ? 

She  thought  again  of  Iver,  of  his  brown,  agate-like 
eyes,  but  eyes  in  which  there  was  none  of  the  hardness 
of  a  stone.  She  contrasted  him  with  Jonas.  How 
mean,  how  despicable,  how  narrow  in  mind  and  in  heart 
was  the  latter  compared  with  the  companion  of  her 
youth. 

Mehetabel's  face  was  bathed  in  perspiration.  She  slid 
to  her  knees  to  pray ;  she  folded  her  hands,  and  found 
herself  repeating.  "Genesis,  fifty  chapters;  Exodus, 
forty ;  Leviticus,  twenty-seven  ;  Numbers,  thirty-six  ; 
Deuteronomy,  thirty-four ;  these  are  the  books  that 

constitute  the  Pentateuch.     The  Book  of  Joshua " 

Then  she  checked  herself.  In  her  distress,  her  neces- 
sity, she  was  repeating  the  lesson  last  acquired  in  Sun- 
day-school, which  had  gained  her  a  prize.  This  was 
not  prayer.  It  brought  her  no  consolation,  it  afforded 
her  no  strength.  She  tried  to  find  something  to  which 
to  cling,  to  stay  her  from  the  despair  into  which  she  had 
slipped,  and  could  only  clearly  figure  to  herself  that  "  the 
country  of  the  Gergesenes  lay  to  the  southeast  of  the 
Sea  of  Tiberias  and  that  a  shekel  weighed  ten  hundred- 
weights and  ninety-two  grains,  Troy  weight,  equal  to 

in  avoirdupois "  her  brain  whirled.     She  could  not 

work  out  the  sum.  She  could  not  pray.  She  could 
recall  no  prayer.  She  could  look  to  nothing  beyond 
the  country  of  the  Gergesenes.     And  yet,  never  in  her 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  119 

life  had  she  so  needed  prayer,  strength,  as  now,  when 
this  new  guilty  passion  was  waking  in  her  heart. 

Shuddering  at  the  thought  of  revolt  against  her  duty, 
unable  altogether  to  abandon  the  hope,  the  longing  to 
see  Iver  again,  filled  with  vague  terror  of  what  the 
future  might  bring  forth,  she  remained  as  struck  with 
paralysis,  kneeling,  speechless,  with  head  bowed,  hands 
fallen  at  her  side,  seeing,  hearing,  knowing  nothing ; 
and  was  roused  with  a  start  by  the  voice  of  Jonas  who 
entered,  and  asked, 

"  Wot's  up  now  ?  ** 

She  could  not  answer  him.  She  sprang  to  her  feet 
and  eagerly  flew  to  the  execution  of  her  domestic 
duties. 

Iver  returned  from  his  visit  to  the  Punch-Bowl  with 
a  mind  occupied  and  ill  at  ease. 

He  had  allowed  himself,  without  a  struggle,  to  give 
way  to  the  impression  produced  on  him  by  the  beauty 
of  Mehetabel.  He  enjoyed  her  society — found  pleas- 
ure in  talking  of  the  past.  Her  mind  was  fresh ;  she 
was  intelligent,  and  receptive  of  new  ideas.  She  alone 
of  all  the  people  of  Thursley,  whom  he  had  encoun- 
tered, was  endowed  with  artistic  sense — was  able  to  set 
the  ideal  above  what  was  material.  He  did  not  ask 
himself  whether  he  loved  her.  He  knew  that  he  did, 
but  the  knowledge  did  not  trouble  him.  After  a  fash- 
ion, Mehetabel  belonged  to  him  as  to  none  other.  She 
was  associated  with  his  earliest  and  sunniest  recollec- 
tions. 

Mehetabel  could  sympathize  with  him  in  his  love  for 
the  beautiful  in  Nature.  She  had  ever  been  linked 
with  his  mother  in  love  for  him.  She  had  been  the 
vehicle  of  communication  between  him  and  his  mother 
till  almost  the  last  moment ;  it  was  through  her  that  all 
tidings  of  home  had  reached  him. 

When  his  father  had  refused  to  allow  Iver's  name 
to  be  mentioned  in  his  presence,  for  hours  daily  the 
thoughts  of  him  had  been  in  the  hearts  of  his  mother 
and  this  girl.  With  united  pity  and  love,  they  had 
followed  his  struggles  to  make  his  way. 


I20  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

There  was  much  obstinacy  in  Tver. 

Resolution  to  have  his  own  way  had  made  him  leave 
home  to  follow  an  artistic  career,  regardless  of  the 
heartache  he  would  cause  his  mother,  and  the  resent- 
ment he  would  breed  in  his  father. 

Thus,  without  consideration  of  the  consequences  to 
himself,  to  Mehetabel,  to  Jonas,  he  allowed  his  glowing 
affection  for  the  young  wife  to  gather  heat,  without 
attempt  to  master  or  extinguish  it. 

There  is  a  certain  careless  happiness  in  the  artistic 
soul  that  is  satisfied  with  the  present,  and  does  not  look 
into  the  future.  The  enjoyment  of  the  hour,  the  ban- 
quet off  the  decked  table,  the  crown  of  roses  freshly 
blown,  suffice  the  artist's  soul.  It  has  no  prevision  of 
the  morrow — makes  no  provision  for  the  winter. 

That  the  marriage  of  Mehetabel  with  Jonas  had 
raised  barriers  between  them  was  hardly  considered. 
That  the  Broom-Squire  might  resent  having  him  hover 
round  his  young  flower,  did  not  enter  into  Tver's  cal- 
culations; least  of  all  did  it  concern  him  that  he  was 
breaking  the  girl's  heart,  and  forever  making  it  impos- 
sible for  her  to  reconcile  herself  to  her  position. 

As  Iver  walked  home  over  the  common,  and  enjoyed 
the  warmth  and  brilliancy  of  the  sun,  he  asked  himself 
again,  why  his  mother  had  not  prepared  him  for  the 
marriage  of  Mehetabel. 

Mehetabel  had  certainly  not  taken  Jonas  because 
she  loved  him.  She  was  above  sordid  considerations. 
What,  then,  had  induced  her  to  take  the  man  ?  She 
had  been  happy  and  contented  at  the  Ship  ;  why,  then, 
did  she  leave  it  ? 

On  reaching  home,  he  put  the  question  to  his  mother. 
"  It  is  a  puzzle  to  me,  which  I  cannot  unravel,  why  has 
Matabel  become  Bideabout's  wife  ?  " 

"Why  should  she  not?"  asked  his  mother  in  re- 
turn. ''  It  was  a  catch  for  such  as  she — a  girl  without 
a  name,  and  bare  of  a  dower.  She  has  every  reason  to 
thank  me  for  having  pushed  the  marriage  on." 

Iver  looked  at  his  mother  with  surprise. 

"  Then  you  had  something  to  do  with  it  ?** 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  121 

"  Of  course  1  had,"  answered  she.  "  I  did  my  duty. 
I  am  not  so  young  as  I  was.  I  had  to  think  for  Mata- 
bel's  future.  She  is  no  child  of  mine.  She  can  expect 
nothing  from  your  father  nor  from  m^.  When  a  good 
offer  came,  then  I  told  her  to  accept  and  be  thankful. 
She  is  a  good  girl,  and  has  been  useful  in  the  house, 
and  some  people  think  her  handsome.  But  young 
men  don't  court  a  girl  who  has  no  name,  and  has  had 
three  men  hanged  because  of  her." 

"  Mother!  what  nonsense!  The  men  were  executed 
because  they  murdered  her  father." 

*'  It  is  all  one.  She  is  marked  with  the  gallows.  Ill- 
luck  attaches  to  her.  There  has  been  a  blight  on  her 
from  the  beginning.  I  mind  when  her  father  chucked 
her  down  all  among  the  fly-poison.  Now  she  has  got 
the  Broom-Squire,  she  may  count  herself  lucky,  and 
thank  me  for  it." 

"  Good  heavens ! "  exclaimed  Iver.  "  Then  this 
marriage  is  your  doing?  " 

''  Yes — I  told  her  that,  before  you  came  here,  I  must 
have  her  clear  out  of  the  house." 

''Why?" 

A  silence  ensued.  Mrs.  Verstage  looked  at  her  son 
— into  his  great,  brown  eyes — and  what  she  saw  there 
alarmed  her.  Her  lips  moved  to  speak,  but  she  could 
utter  no  words.  She  had  let  out  her  motive  without 
consideration — in  the  frankness  that  was  natural  to  her. 

"  I  ask,  mother,  why  did  you  stop  Matabel  from 
writing,  and  take  up  the  correspondence  yourself  at 
last ;  and  then,  when  you  did  write  to  me  at  Guildford, 
you  said  not  one  word  about  Mehetabel  being  prom- 
ised to  the  Broom-Squire?" 

'*  I  could  not  put  all  the  news  of  the  parish  into  my 
letter.     How  should  I  know  that  this  concerned  you  ?  " 

"  We  were  together  as  children.  If  ever  there  were 
friends  in  the  world,  it  was  we." 

"  I  am  a  bad  writer.  It  takes  me  five  minutes  over 
one  word,  just  about.  I  said  what  I  had  to  say,  and 
no  more,  and  I  were  a  couple  o'  days  over  that." 

**Why  did  you  ask  me  to  postpone    my    coming 


122  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

home  ? — why  seek  to  keep  me  away  till  after  Mehet- 
abel's  marriage  ?  " 

"  There  was  a  lot  to  do  in  the  house,  preparation  for 
the  weddin' — her  gownds — I  couldn't  have  you  here 
whilst  all  the  rout  was  on.  I  wanted  to  have  you  come 
when  all  was  quiet  again,  and  I  could  think  of  you. 
What  wi'  preparations  and  schemin'  my  head  was  full." 

**  Was  that  the  only  reason,  mother  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer.     Her  eyes  fell. 

Iver  threw  his  hat  on  the  table,  and  went  to  his 
room.  He  was  incensed  against  his  mother.  He 
guessed  the  reason  why  she  had  urged  on  the  marriage, 
why  she  had  kept  him  in  ignorance  of  the  engagement, 
why  she  had  delayed  his  return  to  Thursley. 

She  had  made  her  plans.  She  wished  to  marry  him 
to  Polly  Colpus,  and  she  dreaded  his  association  with 
Mehetabel  as  likely  to  be  prejudicial  to  the  success  of 
her  cherished  scheme,  now  that  the  girl  was  in  the 
ripeness  of  her  beauty  and  to  Iver  invested  with  the 
halo  of  young  associations,  of  boy  romance. 

If  his  mother  had  told  him !  If  she  had  not  bidden 
him  postpone  his  coming  home  !  Then  all  would  have 
turned  out  well.  Mehetabel  would  not  have  been 
linked  to  an  undesirable  man,  whom  she  could  not  love  ; 
and  he  would  have  been  free  to  make  her  his  own. 

His  heart  was  bitter  as  wormwood. 

Mrs.  Verstage  saw  but  too  plainly  that  her  son  was 
estranged  from  her ;  and  she  could  form  a  rough  esti- 
mate of  the  reason.  He  addressed  her  indeed  with  a 
semblance  of  love,  and  showed  her  filial  attention,  but 
her  maternal  instinct  assured  her  that  something  stood 
between  them,  something  which  took  the  reality  and 
spontaneity  out  of  his  demonstrations  of  affection. 

Iver  occupied  himself  with  the  picture  of  Mehetabel 
at  the  fountain.  It  was  his  great  pleasure  to  work 
thereon.  If  he  was  not  engaged  at  his  canvas  in  the 
tavern,  he  was  wandering  in  the  direction  of  the  Punch- 
Bowl  to  make  studies  for  pictures,  so  he  said.  His 
mother  saw  that  there  was  no  prospect  of  retaining  her 
son  at  the  Ship  for  long.     What  held  him  there  was 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  123 

not  love  for  her,  desire  to  recover  lost  ground  with  his 
father,  not  a  clinging  to  his  old  home,  not  a  desire  to 
settle  and  take  up  his  father's  work ;  it  was  something 
else — she  feared  to  give  utterance  to  th^  thought  haunt- 
ing her  mind. 

"  You  are  a  fool,  old  woman,"  said  her  husband  to 
her  one  night.  **  You  and  I  might  have  been  easy  and 
happy  in  our  old  age  had  you  not  meddled  and  made 
mischief.  You  always  was  a  great  person  for  lecturin* 
about  Providence,  and  it's  just  about  the  one  thing 
you  won't  let  alone." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Simon  ?  "  she  asked,  and  her 
heart  beat  fast  with  presage  of  what  he  would  say. 

"  Why,  Susan,  if  you  had  not  thrust  Mehetabel  into 
the  Broom-Squire's  arms  when  she  didn't  want  to  be 
there  no  more  nor  among  brimbles,  then  Iver  would 
have  taken  her  and  all  would  have  been  peace." 

"  What  makes  you  say  that  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  flutter 
of  terror. 

"  Oh,  I'll  be  bound  it  would  have  been  so.  Iver  has 
been  asking  all  manner  of  questions  about  Matabel, 
and  why  she  took  Jonas.  I  sed  it  was  agin  my  wishes, 
but  that  you  would  have  it,  so  Matabel  had  to  give  in." 

"  Simon,  why  did  you  say  that  ?  You  set  the  boy 
against  me." 

"  I  don't  see  that,  Sanna.  It  is  you  who  have  put  the 
fat  in  the  fire.  If  you  try  to  turn  a  stream  to  run  up- 
hill, you  will  souse  your  own  field,  and  won't  get  the 
water  to  go  where  you  drive  it.  It's  my  belief  that 
all  the  while  he  has  been  away,  Iver  has  had  his  mind 
set  upon  Matabel.  I'm  not  surprised.  You  may  go 
through  Surrey,  and  won't  find  her  match.  Now  he 
comes  home  and  finds  that  you  have  spoiled  his  chance, 
with  your  meddlesomeness — and  there'll  be  the  devil 
to  pay,  yet.     That's  my  opinion." 

The  old  man  turned  on  his  side  and  was  asleep,  but 
self-reproach  for  what  was  past  and  doubt  as  to  the 
future  kept  his  wife  awake  all  night. 


124  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
BACK  AGAIN. 

Fever  boiled  in  the  heart  of  Mehetabel.  A  mill- 
race  of  ideas  rushed  through  her  brain. 

She  found  no  rest  in  her  household  work,  for  it  was 
not  possible  for  her  to  keep  her  mind  upon  it.  Nor 
was  there  sufficient  employment  to  be  found  in  the 
house  to  engage  all  her  time. 

Do  what  she  would,  make  for  herself  occupation, 
there  was  still  space  in  which  to  muse  and  to  torment 
herself  with  her  thoughts.  Whilst  her  hands  were  en- 
gaged she  craved  for  leisure  in  which  to  think  ;  when 
unemployed,  the  ferment  within  rendered  idleness  in- 
tolerable. 

When  the  work  of  the  house  was  accomplished,  she 
went  to  the  fountain  where  she  had  been  drawn  by 
Iver,  and  there  saw  again  the  glowing  brown  of  his 
eyes  fixed  on  her,  and  reheard  the  tones  of  his  voice 
addressing  her.  Then  she  would  start  as  though  stung 
by  a  wasp  and  go  along  the  track  up  the  Punch-Bowl, 
recalling  every  detail  of  her  walk  with  Iver,  and  feeling 
again  his  kiss  upon  her  lips.  She  tried  to  forget  him  ; 
with  a  resolution  of  which  she  was  capable  she  shut 
against  his  entry  every  door  of  her  heart.  But  she 
found  it  was  impossible  to  exclude  the  thoughts  of  him. 
Had  she  not  looked  up  to  him  from  early  childhood, 
and  idolized  him  ?  She  had  been  accustomed  to  think 
of  him,  to  talk  of  him  daily  to  his  mother,  after  he  had 
left  the  Ship.  That  mother  who  had  forcibly  separated 
her  from  him  had  herself  ingrafted  Iver  into  her  inmost 
thoughts,  made  of  him  an  integral  portion  of  her  mind- 
She  had  been  taught  by  Mrs.  Verstage  to  bring  hiiljs^' 
into  all  her  dreams  of  the  future,  as  a  factor  without*' 
which  that  future  would  be  void  and  valuelc^ij.     Sn^ 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  125 

had,  indeed,  never  dreamed  of  him  as  a  lover,  a 
husband ;  nevertheless  to  Mehetabel  the  future  had 
always  been  associated  in  a  vague,  yet  very  real,  manner 
with  Iver.  His  return  was  to  inaugurate  the  epoch  of 
a  new  and  joyous  existence.  It  was  not  practicable 
for  her  to  pluck  out  of  her  heart  this  idea,  which  had 
thrust  its  fibres  through  every  layer  and  into  every 
corner  of  her  mind.  Those  fibres  were  now  thrilling 
with  vitality,  asserting  a  vigorous  life. 

She  asked  herself  the  same  question  that  had  pre- 
sented itself  to  his  mind,  what  if  Iver  had  returned  one 
day,  one  hour,  before  he  actually  did  ?  Then  her 
marriage  with  Jonas  would  have  been  made  impossible. 
The  look  into  his  eyes,  the  pressure  of  his  hand  would 
have  bound  her  to  him  for  evermore. 

**  Why,  why,  and  oh  why  !  "  with  a  cry  of  pain,  **  had 
he  not  returned  in  time  to  save  her?  " 

"  Why,  why,  and  oh  why ! "  with  blood  from  her 
heart,  "  did  he  return  at  all  when  too  late  to  save  her  ?  " 

Mehetabel  had  a  clear  and  sound  understanding. 
She  was  not  one  to  play  tricks  with  her  conscience, 
and  to  reason  herself  into  allowing  what  she  was  well 
aware  was  wrong.  She  nourished  herself  in  no  delusion 
that  her  marriage  with  Jonas  was  formal  and  devoid  of 
the  sanction  of  a  spiritual  bond. 

She  took  her  Prayer  Book,  opened  the  marriage 
service,  and  re-read  the  vows  she  had  made. 

She  had  been  asked,  "  Wilt  thou  have  this  man, 
Jonas,  to  thy  wedded  husband,  to  live  together  after 
God's  ordinance  .  .  .  and  forsaking  all  other  keep  thee 
only  unto  him,  so  long  as  ye  both  shall  live  ? "  and 
thereto,  in  the  sight  of  God  and  of  the  congregation, 
she  had  promised.     There  was  no  escape  from  this. 

She  had  said — "  I,  Mehetabel,  take  thee,  Jonas,  to 
be  my  wedded  husband,  to  have  and  to  hold,  from  this 
day  forward,  for  better,  for  worse,  for  richer,  for  poorer, 
in  sickness  and  in  health,  to  love,  cherish  and  obey,  till 
death  us  do  part,  according  to  God's  holy  ordinance, 
and  thereto  I  give  thee  my  troth." 

There  was  no  proviso  inserted,  as  a  means  of  escape ; 


126  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

nothing  like  :  I  will  be  true  to  thee  unless  Iver  return ; 
unless,  thou,  Bideabout,  prove  unworthy  of  my  love 
and  obedience ;  unless  there  be  incompatibility  of 
temper;  unless  I  get  tired  of  thee,  and  change  my 
mind. 

Mehetabel  knew  what  the  words  meant,  knew  that 
she  had  been  sincere  in  intent  when  she  said  them. 
She  knew  that  she  was  bound,  without  proviso  of  any 
kind. 

She  knew  that  she  could  not  love  Iver  and  be  guilt- 
less. But  she  was  aware  also,  now,  when  too  late,  that 
she  had  undertaken  towards  Jonas  what  was,  in  a 
measure,  impossible. 

Loyal  to  Jonas  as  far  as  outward  conduct  could  make 
her,  that  she  was  confident  she  would  remain,  but  her 
heart  had  slipped  beyond  her  control,  and  her  thoughts 
were  winged  and  refused  to  be  caged. 

"  I  say,  Matabel !  " 

The  young  wife  started,  and  her  bosom  contracted. 
Her  husband  spoke.  He  had  come  on  her  at  a  mo- 
ment when,  lost  in  day-dreams,  she  least  expected, 
desired,  his  presence. 

**  What  do  you  want  with  me,  Jonas?  "  she  asked  as 
she  recovered  her  composure. 

*'  I  want  you  to  go  to  the  Ship.  The  old  woman 
there  has  fallen  out  with  the  maid,  and  there  are  three 
gentlemen  come  for  the  shooting,  and  want  to  be  at- 
tended to.  The  old  woman  asked  if  you  would  help  a 
bit.  I  said  *  Dun  know :  *  but  after  a  bit  we  agreed  for 
a  shilling  a  day." 

"  Never ! "  gasped  Mehetabel. 

"  I  tried  to  screw  more  out  of  her  necessity,  but 
could  not.  Besides,  if  you  do  well,  you'll  get  half-a- 
crown  from  each  of  the  gents,  and  that'll  be  seven  and 
six ;  and  say  three  days  at  the  Inn,  half-a-guinea  all  in 
all.     I  can  spare  you  for  that." 

"Jonas,  I  do  not  wish  to  go." 

"  But  I  choose  that  you  shall." 

"  I  pray  you  allow  me  to  remain  here." 

"  There's  Mr.  Iver  leaves  to-day  for  his  shop  at  Guild- 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  127 

ford,  and  I  reckon  the  old  woman  is  put  about  over 
that,  too." 

After  some  hesitation  Mehetabel  yielded.  The 
thought  that  Iver  would  not  be  at  the  Ship  alone  in- 
duced her  to  consent. 

She  was  hurt  and  angry  that  her  husband  had 
stipulated  for  payment  for  her  services.  After  the 
kindness,  the  generosity  with  which  she  had  been 
treated,  this  seemed  ungracious  in  the  extreme.  She 
said  as  much. 

**  I  don't  see  it,"  answered  Jonas.  **  When  you  wos 
a  baby  she  made  the  parish  pay  her  for  taking  you. 
Now  she  wants  you,  it  is  her  turn  to  pay." 

Bideabout  did  not  allow  his  wife  much  time  in  which 
to  make  her  preparations.  He  had  business  in  Godal- 
ming  with  a  lawyer,  and  was  going  to  drive  old  Clutch 
thither.  He  would  take  Mehetabel  with  him  as  far  as 
Thursley. 

On  reaching  the  tavern  Mrs.  Verstage  met  her  with 
effusion,  and  Iver,  hearing  his  mother's  exclamation, 
ran  out. 

Mehetabel  was  surprised  and  confused  at  seeing  him. 
He  caught  her  by  the  hand,  helped  her  to  descend 
from  the  cart,  and  retained  his  hold  of  her  fingers  for 
a  minute  after  it  was  necessary. 

He  had  told  his  mother  that  he  must  return  to  Guild- 
ford that  day ;  and  when  she  had  asked  for  Mehetabel's 
help  she  had  calculated  on  the  absence  of  her  son,  who 
had  been  packing  up  his  canvas  and  paints.  To  him 
she  had  not  breathed  a  word  of  the  likelihood  that 
Mehetabel  would  be  coming  to  her  aid. 

**  I  daresay  Bideabout  will  give  you  a  lift,  Iver,"  she 
said. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  can,"  said  Jonas.  "  I've  prom- 
ised to  pick  up  Lintott,  and  there  ain*t  room  in  the 
trap  for  more  than  two." 

Then  the  Broom-Squire  drove  away. 

"  See,  Matabel,"  said  Iver,  pointing  to  the  signboard, 
"I've  redaubed  the  Old  Ship,  quite  to  my  father's 
satisfaction.     By  Jove,  I  told  mother  I  should  return 


128  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

to  Guildford  to-day — but  now,  hang  me,  if  I  do  not 
defer  my  departure  for  a  day  or  two." 

Mrs.  Verstage  looked  reproachfully  at  her  son. 

"  Mother,"  said  he  in  self-exculpation.  "  I  shall  take 
in  ideas,  a  model  costs  me  from  a  shilling  to  half-a- 
crown  an  hour,  and  here  is  Matabel,  a  princess  of 
models,  will  sit  for  nothing." 

"  I  shall  be  otherwise  employed,"  said  the  girl,  in 
confusion. 

"  Indeed,  I  shan't  spare  her  for  any  of  that  nonsense," 
said  Mrs.  Verstage. 

The  hostess  was  much  perplexed.  She  had  reckoned 
on  her  son's  departure  before  Mehetabel  arrived.  She 
would  not  have  asked  for  her  assistance  if  she  had  not 
been  convinced  that  he  would  take  himself  off. 

She  expostulated.  Iver  must  not  neglect  his  busi- 
ness, slight  his  engagements.  He  had  resolved  to  go, 
and  had  no  right  to  shilly-shally,  and  change  his  mind. 
She  required  his  room.  He  would  be  in  the  way  with 
the  guests. 

To  all  these  objections  Iver  had  an  answer.  In  fine, 
said  he,  with  Mehetabel  in  the  house  he  could  not  and 
he  would  not  go. 

What  was  Mehetabel  to  do  ?  Jonas  had  locked  up 
his  house  and  had  carried  away  the  key  with  him  ; 
moreover,  to  return  now  was  a  confession  of  weakness. 
What  was  Mrs.  Verstage  to  do  ?  She  had  three 
visitors,  real  gentlemen,  in  the  house.  They  must  be 
made  comfortable  ;  and  the  new  servant,  Polly,  accord- 
ing to  her  notion,  was  a  hopeless  creature,  slatternly, 
forgetful,  impudent. 

There  was  no  one  on  whom  the  landlady  could  fall 
back,  except  Mehetabel,  who  understood  her  ways,  and 
was  certain  to  give  satisfaction.  Mrs.  Verstage  was 
not  what  she  had  once  been,  old  age,  and  more  than 
that,  an  internal  complaint,  against  which  she  had 
fought,  in  which  she  had  refused  to  believe,  had 
quite  recently  asserted  itself,  and  she  was  breaking 
down. 

There  was  consequently  no  help  for  it.     She  resolved 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  129 

to  keep  a  sharp  lookout  on  the  young  people,  and  em- 
ploy Mehetabel  unremittingly.  But  of  one  thing  she 
was  confident.  Mehetabel  was  not  a  person  to  forget 
her  duty  and  self-respect. 

The  agitation  produced  by  finding  that  Iver  purposed 
remaining  in  the  house  passed  away,  and  Mehetabel 
faced  the  inevitable. 

Wherever  her  eye  rested,  memories  of  a  happy  girl- 
hood welled  up  in  her  soft  and  suffering  breast.  The 
geraniums  in  the  window  she  had  watered  daily.  The 
canary — she  had  fed  it  with  groundsel.  The  brass 
skillets  on  the  mantelshelf — they  had  been  burnished 
by  her  hand.  The  cushion  on  "  father's  "  chair  was  of 
her  work.  Everything  spoke  to  her  of  the  past,  and  of 
a  happy  past,  without  sharp  sorrows,  without  carking 
cares. 

Old  Simon  was  rejoiced  to  see  Mehetabel  again  in 
the  house.  He  made  her  sit  beside  him.  He  took  her 
hand  in  his,  and  patted  it.  A  pleasant  smile,  like  a 
sunbeam,  lit  up  his  commonplace  features. 

"  Mother  and  I  have  had  a  deal  to  suffer  since  you've 
been  gone,"  said  Simon.  "  The  girl  Polly  be  that 
stupid  and  foreright  (awkward)  we  shall  be  drove  mad, 
both  of  us,  somewhen." 

"  Do  you  see  that  window-pane  ?  "  he  asked,  pointing 
to  a  gap  in  the  casement.  **  Polly  put  her  broom- 
handle  through.  There  was  not  one  pane  broke  all  the 
time  you  was  with  us,  and  now  there  be.  three  gone, 
and  no  glazier  in  the  village  to  put  *em  to  rights. 
You  mind  the  blue  pranked  (striped)  chiney  taypot  ? 
Mother  set  great  store  on  that.  Polly's  gone  and 
knocked  the  spout  off.  Mother's  put  about  terrible 
over  that  taypot.  As  for  the  best  sheets,  Polly's  burnt 
a  hole  through  one,  let  a  cinder  fly  out  on  it,  when  air- 
ing. Mother's  in  a  pretty  way  over  that  sheet.  I 
don't  know  what  there'll  be  to  eat,  Polly  left  the  larder 
open,  and  the  dog  has  carried  off  a  leg  of  mutton.  It 
has  been  all  cross  and  contrary  ever  since  you  went." 

Simon  mused  a  while,  holding  Mehetabel's  hand, 
and  said  after  a  pause,  '*  It  never  ort  to  a'  been..  You 
9 


130  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

was  well  placed  here  and  never  ort  to  a*  left.  It  was 
all  mother's  doing.  She  drove  you  into  weddin'  that 
there  Broom-Squire.  Women  can't  be  easy  unless 
they  be  hatchin*  weddin's  ;  just  like  as  broody  hens 
must  be  sittin'  on  somethin'.  If  that  had  never  been 
brought  about,  then  the  taypot  spout  would  not  have 
been  knocked  off,  nor  the  winder-pane  broken,  nor  the 
sheet  riddled  wi'  a  cinder,  nor  the  dog  gone  off  wi'  the 
leg  o*  mutton." 

Mehetabel  was  unable  to  suppress  a  sigh. 

"Winter  be  comin'  on,"  pursued  the  old  man,  "  and 
mother's  gettin'  infirm,  and  a  bit  contrary.  When 
Polly  worrits  her,  then  I  ketches  it.  That  always  wos 
her  way.  I  don't  look  forward  to  winter.  I  don't 
look  forward  to  nuthin'  now "  He  became  sorrow- 
ful. "  All  be  gone  to  sixes  and  sevens,  now  that  you 
be  gone,  Matabel.  What  will  happen  I  dun'  know, 
I  dun*  know." 

"  What  may  happen,"  said  Mehetabel,  "  is  not  al- 
ways what  we  expect.  But  one  thing  is  certain — lost 
happiness  is  past  recovery." 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  131 


CHAPTER  XX. 
GONE. 

During  the  evening  Iver  was  hardly  able  to  take 
his  eyes  off  Mehetabel,  as  she  passed  to  and  fro  in  the 
kitchen. 

She  knew  where  was  every  article  that  was  needed 
for  the  gentlemen.  She  moved  noiselessly,  did  every- 
thing without  fuss,  without  haste. 

He  thought  over  the  words  she  had  uttered,  and  he 
had  overheard :  Lost  happiness  is  past  recovery. 
Not  only  was  she  bereft  of  happiness,  but  so  was  he. 
His  father  and  mother,  when  too  late,  had  found  that 
they  also  had  parted  with  theirs  when  they  had  let 
Mehetabel  leave  the  house. 

She  moved  gracefully.  She  was  slender,  her  every 
motion  merited  to  be  sketched.  Iver's  artistic  sense 
was  excited  to  admiration.  What  a  girl  she  was! 
What  a  model !     Oh,  that  he  had  her  as  his  own  ! 

Mehetabel  knew  that  she  was  watched,  and  it  dis- 
concerted her.  She  was  constrained  to  exercise  great 
self-control ;  not  to  let  slip  what  she  carried,  not  to 
forget  what  tasks  had  to  be  discharged. 

In  her  heart  she  glowed  with  pride  at  the  thought 
that  Iver  loved  her — that  he,  the  prince,  the  idol  of  her 
childhood,  should  have  retained  a  warm  place  in  his 
heart  for  her.  And  yet,  the  thought,  though  sweet, 
was  bitter  as  well,  fraught  with  foreshadowings  of 
danger. 

Mrs.  Verstage  also  watched  Mehetabel,  and  her  son 
likewise,  with  anxious  eyes. 

The  old  man  left  the  house  to  attend  to  his  cattle ; 
and  one  of  the  gentlemen  came  to  the  kitchen-door  to 
invite  Iver,  whose  acquaintance  he  had  made  during 


i3«  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

the  day,  to  join  him  and  his  companions  over  a  bowl 
of  punch. 

The  young  man  was  unable  to  refuse,  but  left  with 
reluctance  manifest  enough  to  his  mother  and  Mehet- 
abel. 

Then,  when  the  hostess  was  alone  with  the  girl,  she 
drew  her  to  her  side,  and  said,  "  There  is  now  nothing 
to  occupy  you.  Sit  by  me  and  tell  me  about  yourself 
and  how  you  get  on  with  Bideabout.  You  have  no 
notion  how  pleased  I  am  to  have  you  here  again." 

Mehetabel  kissed  the  old  woman,  and  a  tear  from 
her  eye  fell  on  the  withering  cheek  of  the  landlady. 

"  I  dare  be  bound  you  find  it  lonely  in  the  new  home," 
said  Mrs.  Verstage.  **  Here,  in  an  inn,  there  is  plenty 
of  life  ;  but  in  the  farm  you  are  out  of  the  world.  How 
does  the  Broom-Squire  treat  you?" 

She  awaited  an  answer  with  anxiety,  which  she  was 
unable  to  disguise. 

After  a  pause  Mehetabel  replied,  with  heightened 
color,  "Jonas  is  not  unkind." 

"  You  can't  expect  love-making  every  day,"  said 
the  hostess.  "  It's  the  way  of  men  to  promise  the  sun, 
moon,  and  planets,  till  you  are  theirs,  and  after  that, 
then  poor  women  must  be  content  to  be  given  a  spark 
off  a  fallen  star.  There  was  Jamaica  Cheel  runn'd 
away  with  his  Betsy  because  he  thought  the  law 
wouldn't  let  him  have  her ;  she  was  the  wife  of  an- 
other, you  know.  Then  he  found  she  never  had  been 
proper  married  to  the  other  chap,  and  when  he  dis- 
covered he  was  fast  tied  to  Betsy  he'd  a  run  away  from 
her  only  the  law  wouldn't  let  him.  Jonas  ain't  beauti- 
ful and  young,  that  I  allow." 

"  I  knew  what  he  was  when  I  married  him,"  answered 
Mehetabel.  "I  cannot  say  I  find  him  other  than 
what  I  expected." 

"  But  is  he  kind  to  you  ?  " 

"  I  said  he  was  not  unkind." 

Mrs.  Verstage  looked  questioningly  at  her  adopted 
child.  "  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  with  quivering  lips. 
'*  I  suppose  I  was  right.     I  acted  for  the  best.     God 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  133 

knows  I  sought  your  happiness.  Do  not  tell  me  that 
you  are  unhappy." 

'*  Who  is  happy  ?  "  asked  Mehetabel,  and  turned  her 
eyes  on  the  hostess,  to  read  alarm  and  distress  in  her 
face.  **  Do  not  trouble  yourself  about  me,  mother.  I 
knew  what  I  was  doing  when  I  took  Jonas.  I  had  no 
expectation  of  finding  the  Punch-Bowl  to  be  Paradise. 
It  takes  a  girl  some  time  to  get  settled  into  fresh  quar- 
ters, and  to  feel  comfortable  among  strangers.  That 
is  mainly  my  case.  I  was  perhaps  spoiled  when  here, 
you  were  so  kind  to  me.  I  thank  you,  mother,  that 
you  have  not  forgotten  me  in  your  great  joy  at  getting 
Iver  home  again." 

"  There  was  Thomasine  French  bought  two  penn'orth 
o'  shrimps,  and  as  her  husband  weren't  at  home  thought 
to  enjoy  herself  prodigious.  But  she  came  out  red  as 
a  biled  lobster.  With  the  best  intentions  things  don't 
always  turn  out  as  expected,"  said  Mrs.  Verstage, 
"  and  the  irritation  was  like  sting  nettles  and — wuss." 
Then,  after  a  pause,  *'  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  all  my 
life  I  have  wished  to  have  Iver  by  me.  He  went  away 
because  he  wanted  to  be  a  painter ;  he  has  come  back, 
after  many  years,  and  is  not  all  I  desire.  Now  he  is 
goyn  away.  I  could  endure  that  if  I  were  sure  he 
loved  me.  But  I  don't  think  he  does.  He  cares  more 
for  his  father,  who  sent  him  packin'  than  he  does  for 
me,  who  never  crossed  him.  I  don't  understand  him. 
He  is  not  the  same  as  he  was." 

"  Iver  is  a  child  no  longer,"  said  Mehetabel.  "  You 
must  not  expect  of  him  more  than  he  can  give.  What 
you  said  to  me  about  a  husband  is  true  also  of  a  child. 
Of  course,  he  loves  you,  but  he  does  not  show  it  as 
fully  as  you  desire.  He  has  something  else  now  to 
fill  his  heart  beside  a  mother." 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Verstage,  nervously. 

"  His  art,"  answered  Mehetabel. 

"  Oh,  that !  "  The  landlady  was  not  wholly  satisfied, 
she  stood  up  and  said  with  a  sigh,  "  I  fancy  life  be 
much  like  one  o'  them  bran  pies  at  a  bazaar.  Some 
pulls  out  a  pair  of  braces  as  don't  wear  trousers,  and 


134  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

others  pull  out  garters  as  wears  nuthin'  but  socks. 
'Tis  a  chance  if  you  get  wot's  worth  havin'.  Well,  I 
must  go  look  out  another  sheet  in  place  of  that  Polly 
has  burnt." 

"  Let  me  do  that,  mother.'* 

"  No,  as  you  may  remember,  I  have  always  managed 
the  linen  myself." 

A  few  minutes  later,  after  she  had  left  the  room, 
Iver  returned.  He  had  escaped  from  the  visitors  on 
some  excuse. 

His  heart  was  a  prey  to  vague  yearnings  and  doubts. 

With  pleasure  he  observed  that  his  mother  was  no 
longer  in  the  kitchen.  He  saw  Mehetabel  hastily  dry 
her  eyes.  He  knew  that  she  had  been  crying,  and  he 
thought  he  could  divine  the  cause. 

"  You  are  going  to  Guildford  to-morrow  morning, 
are  you  not  ?  "  she  asked  hastily. 

*'  I  don't  know." 

Iver  planted  himself  on  a  stool  before  the  fire,  where 
he  could  look  up  into  Mehetabel's  face,  as  she  sat  in 
the  settle. 

"  You  have  your  profession  to  attend  to,"  she  said. 
"  You  do  not  know  your  own  mind.  You  are  change- 
ful as  a  girl." 

"  How  can  I  go — with  you  here  ?  "  he  exclaimed, 
vehemently. 

She  turned  her  head  away.  He  was  looking  at  her 
with  burning  eyes. 

"  Iver,"  she  said,  "  I  pray  you  be  more  loving  to  your 
mother.  You  have  made  her  heart  ache.  It  is  cruel 
not  to  do  all  you  can  now  to  make  amends  to  her  for 
the  past.  She  thinks  that  you  do  not  love  her.  She 
is  failing  in  health,  and  you  must  not  drip  drops  of 
fresh  sorrow  into  her  heart  during  her  last  years." 

Iver  made  a  motion  of  impatience. 

"  I  love  my  mother.     Of  course  I  love  her." 

"  Not  as  truly  as  you  should,  Iver,"  answered  Mehet- 
abel.    "  You  do  not  consider  the  long  ache " 

**  And  I,  had  not  I  a  long  ache  when  away  from 
home  ?  " 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  135 

"  You  had  your  art  to  sustain  you.  She  had  but  one 
thought — and  that  of  you." 

"  She  has  done  me  a  cruel  wrong/*  said  he,  irritably. 

"  She  has  never  done  anything  to  you  but  good,  and 
out  of  love,"  answered  the  girl  vehemently. 

"  To  me ;  that  is  not  it." 

Mehetabel  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  at  him.  He 
was  gazing  moodily  at  the  fire. 

"  She  has  stabbed  me  through  you,"  exclaimed  Iver, 
with  a  sudden  outburst  of  passion.  "  Why  do  you 
plead  my  mother's  cause,  when  it  was  she — I  know  it 
was  she,  and  none  but  she — who  thrust  you  into  this 
hateful,  this  accursed  marriage." 

"  No,  Iver,  no  !  "  cried  Mehetabel  in  alarm.  "  Do 
not  say  this.     Iver !  talk  of  something  else." 

"  Of  what  ?  " 

"  Of  anything." 

"  Very  well,"  said  he,  relapsing  into  his  dissatisfied 
mood.  "  You  asked  me  once  what  my  dream  had 
been,  that  I  dreamt  that  first  night  under  your  roof. 
I  will  tell  you  this  now.  I  thought  that  you  and  I  had 
been  married,  not  you  and  Jonas,  you  and  I,  as  it 
should  have  been.  And  I  thought  that  I  looked  at 
you,  and  your  face  was  deadly  pale,  and  the  hand  I 
held  was  clay  cold." 

A  chill  ran  through  Mehetabel's  veins.  She  said, 
"  There  is  some  truth  in  it,  Iver.  You  hold  a  dead 
girl  by  the  hand.  To  you,  I  am,  I  must  be,  forever — 
dead." 

"  Nonsense.     All  will  come  right  somehow." 

"  Yes,  Iver,"  she  said  ;  "  it  will  so.  You  are  free 
and  will  go  about,  and  will  see  and  love  and  marry  a 
girl  worthy  of  you  in  every  way.  As  for  me,  my  lot 
is  cast  in  the  Punch-Bowl.  No  power  on  earth  can 
separate  me  from  Bideabout.  I  have  made  my  bed 
and  must  lie  on  it,  though  it  be  one  of  thorns.  There 
is  but  one  thing  for  us  both — we  must  part  and  meet 
no  more." 

"  Matabel '  "  he  put  forth  his  hand  in  protest. 

"  I  have  spoken  plainly,"  she  said,  ''  because  there  is 


136  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

no  good  in  not  doing  so.  Do  not  make  my  part  more 
difficult.     Be  a  man — go." 

"  Matabel !  It  shall  not  be,  it  cannot  be !  My 
love  !     My  only  one." 

He  tried  to  grasp  her. 

She  sprang  from  the  settle.  A  mist  formed  before 
her  eyes.  She  groped  for  something  by  which  to  stay 
herself. 

He  seized  her  by  the  waist.  She  wrenched  herself 
free. 

**  Let  me  go  !  "  she  cried.     **  Let  me  go  !  " 

She  spoke  hoarsely.  Her  eyes  were  staring  as  if  she 
saw  a  spirit.  She  staggered  back  beyond  his  reach, 
touched  the  jambs  of  the  door,  grasped  them  with  a 
grasp  of  relief.  Then,  actuated  by  a  sudden  thought, 
turned  and  fled  from  the  room,  from  the  house. 

Iver  stood  for  a  minute  bewildered.  Her  action  had 
been  so  unexpected  that  he  did  not  know  what  to  think, 
what  to  do. 

He  went  to  the  porch  and  looked  up  the  road,  then 
down  it,  and  did  not  see  her. 

Mrs.  Verstage,  came  out.  "Where  is  Matabel?" 
she  asked,  uneasily. 

"  Gone !  "  said  Iver.     "  Mother— gone  !  " 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  137 


CHAPTER  XXI. 
THOR'S  STONE. 

Mehetabel  ran,  neither  along  the  way  that  led  in 
the  direction  of  Portsmouth,  nor  along  that  to  Godal- 
ming,  but  to  the  Moor. 

''  The  Moor,"  is  the  marsh  land  that  lies  at  the  roots 
of  the  sandstone  heights  that  culminate  in  Hind  Head. 
Leith  Hill,  and  the  Devil's  Jumps.  As  already  said, 
the  great  mass  of  Bagshot  sand  lies  upon  a  substratum 
of  clay.  The  sand  drinks  in  every  drop  of  rain  that 
falls  on  the  surface.  This  percolates  through  it  till  it 
reaches  the  clay,  which  refuses  to  absorb  it,  or  let  it 
sink  through  to  other  beds.  Thereupon  the  accumu- 
lated water  breaks  forth  in  springs  at  the  base  of  the 
hills,  and  forms  a  wide  tract  of  morass,  interspersed 
with  lagoons  that  teem  with  fish  and  wild  fowl.  This 
region  is  locally  known  as  "  Moor,"  in  contradistinc- 
tion to  the  commons  or  downs,  which  are  the  dry  sandy 
upland. 

"  The  Moor "  is  in  many  places  impassable,  but 
the  blown  sand  has  fallen  upon  it,  and  has  formed  slight 
elevations,  has  drifted  into  undulations,  and  these  strips 
of  rising  ground,  kept  moist  by  the  water  they  absorb, 
have  become  covered  with  vegetation.  It  is,  more- 
over, possible  by  their  means  to  penetrate  to  the  heart 
of,  and  even  thread,  the  intricacies,  and  traverse  the 
entire  region  of  the  Moor. 

But  it  is,  at  best,  a  wild  and  lonesome  district,  to  be 
explored  with  caution,  a  labyrinth,  the  way  through 
which  is  known  only  to  the  natives  of  the  sandhills  that 
dominate  the  marshy  plain. 

About  thirty  years  ago  a  benevolent  and  beneficent 
landlord,  in  a  time  of  agricultural  distress,  gave  em- 


138  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

ployment  to  a  large  number  of  men  out  of  work  in 
the  construction  of  a  causeway  across  the  Thursley 
'*  Moor." 

But  the  work  was  of  no  real  utility,  and  it  is  now 
overgrown  with  weeds,  and  only  trodden  by  the  sports- 
man in  pursuit  of  game  and  the  naturalist  in  quest  of 
rare  insects  and  water  plants. 

A  considerable  lake,  Pudmere,  or  Pug — Puckmere, 
lies  in  the  Thursley  marsh  land,  surrounded  with  dwarf 
willows  and  scattered  pines.  These  latter  have  sprung 
from  the  wind-blown  seeds  of  the  plantations  on  higher 
ground.  Throughout  this  part  of  the  country  an 
autumn  gale  always  results  in  the  upspringing  of  a  for- 
est of  young  pines,  next  year,  to  leeward  of  a  clump  of 
cone-bearing  trees.  In  the  Moor  such  self-sown  woods 
come  to  no  ripeness.  The  pines  are  unhealthy  and 
stunted,  hung  with  gray  moss,  and  eaten  out  with 
canker.  The  excessive  moisture  and  the  impenetrable 
subsoil,  and  the  shallowness  of  the  congenial  sand  that 
encouraged  them  to  root  make  the  young  trees  decay 
in  adolescence. 

An  abundant  and  varied  insect  world  has  its  home 
in  the  Moor.  The  large  brown  hawkmoth  darts  about 
like  an  arrow.  Dragon  flies  of  metallic  blue,  or  striped 
yellow  and  brown,  hover  above  the  lanes  of  water,  lost 
in  admiration  of  their  own  gorgeous  selves  reflected  in 
the  still  surface.  The  great  water-beetle  booms  against 
the  head  of  the  intruder,  and  then  drops  as  a  stone  into 
the  pool  at  his  feet.  Effets,  saffron  yellow  bellied, 
with  striped  backs,  swim  in  the  ponds  or  crawl  at  their 
bottom.  The  natterjack,  so  rare  elsewhere,  differing 
from  a  toad  in  that  it  has  a  yellow  band  down  its  back, 
has  here  a  paradise.  It  may  be  seen  at  eve  perched 
on  a  stock  of  willow  herb,  or  running — it  does  not  hop 
— round  the  sundew,  clearing  the  glutinous  stamens  of 
the  flies  that  have  been  caught  by  them,  and  calling 
in  a  tone  like  the  warning  note  of  the  nightingale. 
Sleeping  on  the  surface  the  carp  lies,  and  will  not  be 
scared  save  by  a  stone  thrown  into  the  still  water  in 
which  it  dreams  away  its  life. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  139 

The  sandy  elevations  are  golden  with  tormintilla;  a 
richer  gold  is  that  which  lies  below,  where  the  marsh 
glows  with  bog  asphodel.  The  flowering  rush  spreads 
its  pale  pink  blossoms ;  a  deeper  crirtison  is  the  marsh 
orchis  showing  its  spires  among  the  drooping  clusters 
of  the  waxy-pink,  cross-leaved  heath,  and  the  green  or 
pale  and  rosy-tinted  bog-mosses. 

Near  Pudmoor  Pool  stands  a  gray  block  of  ironstone, 
a  solitary  portion  of  the  superincumbent  bed  that  has 
been  washed  away.  It  resembles  a  gigantic  anvil,  and 
it  goes  by  the  name  of  Thor's  Stone.  The  slopes  that 
dip  towards  it  are  the  Thor's-lea,  and  give  their  name 
to  the  parish  that  includes  it  and  them. 

At  one  time  there  was  a  similar  mass  of  iron  at  the 
summit  of  Borough  Hill,  that  looks  down  upon  the 
morasses. 

To  this  many  went  who  were  in  trouble  or  necessity, 
and  knocking  on  the  stone  made  known  their  require- 
ments to  the  Pucksies,  and  it  was  asserted,  and  gener- 
ally believed,  that  such  applicants  had  not  gone  away 
unanswered,  nor  unrelieved. 

It  was  told  of  a  certain  woman  who  one  evening 
sought  to  be  freed  by  this  means  from  the  husband 
who  had  made  her  life  unendurable,  that  that  same 
night — so  ran  the  tale — he  was  returning  from  the 
tavern,  drunk,  and  stumbling  over  the  edge  of  a  quarry 
fell  and  broke  his  neck.  Thereupon  certain  high 
moralists  and  busybodies  had  the  mass  of  stone  broken 
up  and  carted  away  to  mend  the  roads,  with  the  expec- 
tation thereby  of  putting  an  end  to  what  they  were 
pleased  to  term  '*  a  degrading  superstition." 

To  some  extent  the  destruction  of  the  Wishing 
Block  did  check  the  practice.  But  there  continued  to 
be  persons  in  distress,  and  women  plagued  with  drunken 
husbands,  and  men  afflicted  with  scolding  wives.  And 
when  the  pilgrimage  of  such  to  Borough  Hill  ceased, 
because  of  the  destruction  of  the  stone  on  it,  then  was 
it  diverted,  and  the  current  flowed  instead  to  Thor's 
Stone — a  stone  that  had  long  been  regarded  with  awe, 
and  which  now  became  an  object  of  resort,  as  it  was 


I40  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

held  to   have   acquired   the   merits   of  the   block   so 
wantonly  demolished  on  Borough  Hill. 

Nevertheless,  the  object  of  the  high  moralists  and 
busybodies  was  partially  attained,  inasmuch  as  the 
difficulties  and  dangers  attending  a  visit  to  Thor's 
Stone  reduced  the  number  of  those  seeking  super- 
human assistance  in  their  difficulties.  Courage  was 
requisite  in  one  who  ventured  to  the  Moor  at  night, 
and  made  a  way  to  the  iron-stone  block,  over  tracts 
of  spongy  morass,  among  lines  of  stagnant  ooze, 
through  coppices  of  water-loving  willows  and  straggling 
brier.  This,  which  was  difficult  by  day,  was  dangerous 
in  a  threefold  degree  at  night.  Moreover,  the  Moor 
was  reputed  to  be  haunted  by  spirits,  shadows  that 
ran  and  leaped,  and  peered  and  jabbered ;  and  Puck 
wi'  the  lantern  flickered  over  the  surface  of  the  fester- 
ing bog. 

If,  then,  the  visits  to  Thor's  Stone  were  not  so 
many  as  to  the  stone  on  Borough  Hill,  this  was  due  less 
to  the  waning  of  superstition  than  to  the  difficulties 
attending  an  expedition  to  the  former.  Without 
considering  what  she  was  doing,  moved  by  a  blind 
impulse,  Mehetabel  ran  in  the  direction  of  Puck's 
Moor. 

And  yet  the  impulse  was  explicable.  She  had  often 
thought  over  the  tales  told  of  visits  to  the  habitation 
of  the  "  Good  Folk  "  on  Borough  Hill,  and  the  trans- 
fer of  the  pilgrimage  to  Thor's  Stone.  She  had,  of 
late,  repeatedly  asked  herself  whether,  by  a  visit 
thither,  she  might  not  gain  what  lay  at  her  heart — 
an  innocent  desire — none  other  than  that  Iver  should 
depart. 

;  Now  that  he  had  made  open  show  of  his  passion, 
that  all  concealment  was  over  between  them,  every 
veil  and  disguise  plucked  away — now  she  felt  that  her 
strength  was  failing  her,  and  it  would  fail  completely 
if  subjected  to  further  trial. 

One  idea,  like  a  spark  of  fire  shooting  through  her 
brain,  alone  possessed  her  at  this  moment.  Her  safety 
depended  on  one  thing — the  removal  of    Iver.     Let 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  141 

him  go !  Let  him  go !  then  she  could  bear  her  lot. 
Let  her  see  him  no  more !  then  she  would  be  able  to 
bring  her  truant  heart  under  discipline.  Otherwise 
her  life  would  be  unendurable,  her  tortured  brain  would 
give  way,  her  overtaxed  heart  would  break. 

She  found  no  stay  for  her  soul  in  the  knowledge 
where  was  situated  the  country  of  the  Gergesenes,  no 
succor  in  being  well  drilled  in  the  number  of  chapters 
in  Genesis.  She  turned  desperately,  in  her  necessity, 
to  Thor's  Stone,  to  the  spirits — what  they  were  she 
knew  not — who  aided  those  in  need,  and  answered 
petitions  addressed  to  them. 

The  night  had  already  set  in,  but  a  full  golden  moon 
hung  in  the  sky,  and  the  night  was  in  no  way  dark  and 
dreadful. 

When  she  reached  the  Moor,  Mehetabel  ran  among 
sheets  of  gold,  leaped  ribbons  of  shining  metal,  danced 
among  golden  filagree — the  reflection  of  the  orb  in  the 
patches,  channels,  frets  of  water.  She  sprang  from 
one  dark  tuft  of  rushes  to  another ;  she  ran  along  the 
ridges  of  the  sand.  She  skipped  where  the  surface  was 
treacherous.  What  mattered  it  to  her  if  she  missed 
her  footing,  sank,  and  the  ooze  closed  over  her  ?  As 
well  end  so  a  life  that  could  never  be  other  than  long- 
drawn  agony. 

Before  leaving  the  heath,  she  had  stooped  and  picked 
up  a  stone.  It  was  a  piece  of  hematite  iron,  such  as 
frequently  occurs  in  the  sand,  liver-shaped,  and  of  the 
color  of  liver. 

She  required  a  hammer,  wherewith  to  knock  on  Thor's 
anvil,  and  make  her  necessities  known,  and  this  piece 
of  iron  would  serve  her  purpose. 

Frogs  were  croaking,  a  thousand  natterjacks  were 
whirring  like  the  nightjar.  Strange  birds  screamed  and 
rushed  out  of  the  trees  as  she  sped  along.  White 
moths,  ghostlike,  wavered  about  her,  mosquitoes  piped. 
Water-rats  plunged  into  the  pools. 

As  a  child  she  had  been  familiar  with  Pudmoor,  and 
instinctively  she  walked,  ran,  only  where  her  foot  could 
rest  securely. 


142  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

A  special  Providence,  it  is  thought,  watches  over 
children  and  drunkards.  It  watches  also  over  such  as 
are  drunk  with  trouble,  it  holds  them  up  when  unable 
to  think  for  themselves,  it  holds  them  back  when  they 
court  destruction. 

To  this  morass,  Mehetabel  had  come  frequently  with 
Iver,  in  days  long  gone  by,  to  hunt  the  natterjack  and 
the  dragon-fly,  to  look  for  the  eggs  of  water  fowl,  and 
to  pick  marsh  flowers. 

As  she  pushed  on,  a  thin  mist  spread  over  portions 
of  the  "  Moor."  It  did  not  lie  everywhere,  it  spared 
the  sand,  it  lay  above  the  water,  but  in  so  delicate  a 
film  as  to  be  all  but  imperceptible.  It  served  to  diffuse 
the  moonlight,  to  make  a  halo  of  silver  about  the  face 
of  the  orb,  when  looked  up  to  by  one  within  the  haze, 
otherwise  it  was  scarcely  noticeable. 

Mehetabel  ran  with  heart  bounding  and  with  fevered 
brain,  and  yet  with  her  mind  holding  tenaciously  to 
one  idea. 

After  a  while,  and  after  deviations  from  the  direct 
course,  rendered  necessary  by  the  nature  of  the 
country  she  traversed,  Mehetabel  reached  Thor's 
Stone,  that  gleamed  white  in  the  moonbeam  beside  a 
sheet  of  water,  the  Mere  of  the  Pucksies.  This  mere 
had  the  mist  lying  on  it  more  dense  than  elsewhere. 
The  vapor  rested  on  the  surface  as  a  fine  gossamer 
veil,  not  raised  above  a  couple  of  feet,  hardly  ruffled 
by  a  passing  sigh  of  air.  A  large  bird  floated  over  it 
on  expanded  wings,  it  looked  white  as  a  swan  in  the 
moonlight,  but  cast  a  shadow  black  as  pitch  on  the 
vaporous  sheet  that  covered  the  face  of  the  pool. 

It  was  as  though,  like  Dinorah,  this  bird  were 
dancing  to  its  own  shadow.  But  unlike  Dinorah,  it 
was  silent.  It  uttered  no  song,  there  was  even  no 
sound  of  the  rush  of  air  from  its  broad  wings.  When 
Mehetabel  reached  the  stone  she  stood  for  a  moment 
palpitating,  gasping  for  breath,  and  her  breath  passing 
from  her  lips  in  white  puffs  of  steam. 

The  haze  from  the  mere  seemed  to  rise  and  fling 
its  long  streamers  about  her  head  and  blindfold  her 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  143 

eyes,  so  that  she  could  see  neither  the  lake  nor  the 
trees,  not  even  the  anvil-stone.  Only  was  there  about 
her  a  general  silvery  glitter,  and  a  sei\se  of  oppression 
lay  upon  her. 

Mehetabel  had  escaped  from  the  inn,  as  she  was, 
with  bare  arms,  her  skirt  looped  up. 

She  stood  thus,  with  the  lump  of  ironstone  resting  on 
the  block,  the  full  flood  of  moonlight  upon  her,  blind- 
ing her  eyes,  but  revealing  her  against  a  background 
of  foliage,  like  a  statue  of  alabaster.  Startled  by  a 
rustle  in  the  bulrushes  and  willow  growth  behind  her, 
Mehetabel  turned  and  looked,  but  her  eyes  were  not 
clear  enough  for  her  to  discern  anything,  and  as  the 
sound  ceased,  she  recovered  from  her  momentary 
alarm. 

She  had  heard  that  a  deer  was  in  Pudmoor  that  was 
supposed  to  have  escaped  from  the  park  at  Peperharow. 
Possibly  the  creature  was  there.  It  was  harmless. 
There  were  no  noxious  beasts  there.  It  was  too  damp 
for  vipers,  nothing  in  Pudmoor  was  hurtful  save  the 
gnats  that  there  abounded.  Then,  with  her  face  turned 
to  the  north,  away  from  the  dazzling  glory  of  the 
moon,  Mehetabel  swung  the  lump  of  kidney  iron  she 
had  taken  as  hammer,  once  from  east  to  west,  and  once 
from  west  to  east.  With  a  third  sweep  she  brought 
it  down  upon  Thor's  Stone  and  cried : 

"  Take  him  away !    Take  him  away  ! " 


144  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

IVER!    COME. 

She  paused,  drew  a  long  breath. 

Again  she  swung  the  hammer-stone.  And  now  she 
turned  round,  and  passed  the  piece  of  iron  into  her 
left  hand.  She  raised  it  and  struck  on  the  anvil,  and 
cried :  "  Save  me  from  him.  Take  him  away."  A 
rush,  all  the  leaves  of  the  trees  behind  seemed  to  be 
stirring,  and  all  the  foliage  falling  about  her. 

A  hand  was  laid  on  her  shoulder  roughly,  and  the 
stone  dropped  from  her  fingers  on  the  anvil.  Mehet- 
abel  shrank,  froze,  as  struck  with  a  sudden  icy  blast, 
and  cried  out  with  fear. 

Then  said  a  voice :  **  So  !  you  seek  the  Devil's  aid 
to  rid  you  of  me." 

At  once  she  knew  that  she  was  in  the  presence  of 
her  husband,  but  so  dazzled  was  she  that  she  could  not 
discern  him. 

His  fingers  closed  on  her  arm,  as  though  each  were 
an  iron  screw. 

"  So!  "  said  he,  in  a  low  tone,  his  voice  quivering 
with  rage,  **  like  Karon  Wyeth,  you  ask  the  Devil  to 
break  my  neck." 

**  No,"  gasped  Mehetabel. 

"  Yes,  Matabel.  I  heard  you.  *  Save  me  from  him. 
Take  him  away.*  " 

"  No— no — Jonas." 

She  could  not  speak  more  in  her  alarm  and  confusion. 

"  Take  him  away.  Snap  his  spine — send  a  bullet 
through  his  skull ;  cast  him  into  Pug's  mere  and  drown 
him  ;  do  what  you  will,  only  rid  me  of  Bideabout  Kink, 
whom  I  swore  to  love,  honor,  and  to  obey." 

He  spoke  with  bitterness  and  wrath,  sprinkled  over, 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  145 

nay,  permeated,  with  fear ;  for,  with  all  his  professed 
rationalism,  Jonas  entertained  some  ancestral  super- 
stitions— and  belief  in  the  efficacy  of^  the  spirits  that 
haunted  Thor's  Stone  was  one. 
. "  No,  Jonas,  no.     I  did  not  ask  it.*' 

"  I  heard  you." 

"  Not  you."  , 

"  What,"  sneered  he  ;  "  are  not  these  ears  mine  ?  " 

"  I  mean — I  did  not  ask  to  have  you  taken  away." 

**  Then  whom  ?  " 

She  was  silent.  She  trembled.  She  could  not 
answer  his  question. 

If  her  husband  had  been  at  all  other  than  he  was, 
Mehetabel  would  have  taken  him  into  her  confidence. 
But  there  are  certain  persons  to  whom  to  commit  a 
confidence  is  to  expose  yourself  to  insult  and  outrage. 
Mehetabel  knew  this.  Such  a  confidence  as  she  would 
have  given  would  be  turned  by  him  into  a  means  of 
torture  and  humiliation. 

"  Now  listen  to  me,"  said  Jonas,  in  quivering  tones 
of  a  voice  that  was  suppressed.  "  I  know  all  now.  I 
did  not.  I  trusted  you.  I  was  perhaps  a  fool.  I  be- 
lieved in  you.  But  Sarah  has  told  me  all — how  he — 
that  painting  ape — has  been  at  my  house,  meeting  you, 
befooling  you,  pouring  his  love-tales  into  your  ears,  and 
watching  till  my  back  was  turned  to  kiss  you." 

She  was  unable  to  speak.  Her  knees  smote  to- 
gether. 

**  You  cannot  answer,"  he  continued.  "  You  are 
unable  to  deny  that  it  was  so.  Sarah  has  kept  an  eye 
on  you  both.  She  should  have  spoken  before.  I  am 
sorry  she  did  not.  But  better  late  than  never.  You 
encouraged  him  to  come  to  you.  You  drew  him  to  the 
house." 

"  No,  Jonas,  no.     It  was  you  who  invited  him." 

"  Ah  !  for  me  he  would  not  come.  Little  he  cared 
for  my  society.  The  picture-making  was  but  an  ex- 
cuse, and  you  all  have  been  in  a  league  against  me." 

"Who— Jonas?" 

"Who?     Why,  Sanna  Verstaee  and  all.     Did  not 
10 


146  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

she  ask  to  have  you  at  the  Ship,  and  say  that  the 
painting  fellow  was  going  or  gone  ?  And  is  he  not 
there  still  ?  She  said  it  to  get  you  and  him  together 
there,  away  from  me,  out  of  the  reach  of  Sarah's  eyes." 

"  It  is  false,  Jonas!"  exclaimed  Mehetabel  with  in- 
dignation, that  for  a  while  overcame  her  fear. 

"  False  !  "  cried  Bideabout.  "  Who  is  false  but  you  ? 
What  is  false  but  every  word  you  speak  ?  False  in 
heart,  false  in  word,  and  false  in  act."  He  had  laid 
hold  of  the  bit  of  ironstone,  and  he  struck  the  anvil 
with  it  at  every  charge  of  falsehood. 

"  Jonas,"  said  Mehetabel,  recovering  self-control  un- 
der the  resentment  she  felt  at  being  misunderstood, 
and  her  action  misinterpreted.  "  Jonas,  I  have  done 
you  no  injury.  I  was  weak.  God  in  heaven  knows 
my  integrity.  I  have  never  wronged  you  ;  but  I  was 
weak,  and  in  deadly  fear." 

"  In  fear  of  whom  ?  " 

"  Of  myself — my  own  weakness.*' 

"  You  weak ! "  he  sneered.  "  You — strong  as  any 
woman." 

"  I  do  not  speak  of  my  arms,  Jonas — my  heart — my 
spirit " 

"  Weak !  "  he  scoffed.  "  A  woman  with  a  weak  and 
timorous  soul  would  not  come  to  Thor's  Stone  at  night. 
No — strong  you  are — in  evil,  in  wickedness,  from  which 
no  tears  will  withhold  you.  And — that  fellow — that 
daub-paint " 

Mehetabel  did  not  speak.     She  was  trembling. 

"  I  ask — what  of  him  ?  Was  not  he  in  your  thoughts 
when  you  asked  the  Devil  to  rid  you  of  me — your 
husband?" 

"  I  did  not  ask  that,  Jonas." 

"  What  of  him  ?  He  has  not  gone  away.  He  has 
been  with  you.  You  knew  he  was  not  going.  You 
wanted  to  be  with  him.  Where  is  he — this  dauber  of 
canvas — now  ?" 

Then,  through  the  fine  gauze  of  condensing  haze, 
came  a  call  from  a  distance — "  Matabel !  Where  are 
you?" 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  147 

"  Oh,  ho  !  *'  exclaimed  the  Broom-Squire.  **  Here  he 
comes.  By  appointment  you  meet  him  here,  where 
you  least  expected  that  I  would  be." 

"  It  is  false,  Jonas.     I  came  here  to  escape." 

''And  pray  for  my  death?" 

*'  No,  Jonas,  to  be  rid  of  him." 

Bideabout  chuckled,  with  a  sarcastic  sneer  in  the  side 
of  his  face. 

"  Come  now,"  said  he  ;  *'  I  should  dearly  like  to  wit- 
ness this  meeting.  If  true  to  me,  as  you  pretend,  then 
obey  me,  summon  him  here,  and  let  me  be  present, 
unobserved,  when  you  meet.  If  your  wish  be,  as  you 
say,  to  be  rid  of  him,  I  will  help  you  to  its  fulfilment." 

"  Jonas ! " 

**  I  will  it.     So  alone  can  you  convince  me." 

She  hesitated.  She  had  not  the  power  to  gather 
her  thoughts  together,  to  judge  what  she  should  do, 
what  under  the  circumstances  would  be  best  to  be  done. 

"  Come  now,"  repeated  Jonas.  "  If  you  are  true  and 
honest,  as  you  say,  call  him." 

She  put  her  trembling  hand  to  her  head,  wiped  the 
drops  from  her  brow,  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  the  dew 
from  her  quivering  lips. 

Her  brain  was  reeling,  her  power  of  will  was  paralyzed. 

"  Come,  now,"  said  Jonas  once  more,  "  answer  him 
— here  am  I." 

Then  Mehetabel  cried,  "  Iver,  here  am  I ! " 

"  Where  are  you,  Mehetabel  ?  "  came  the  question 
through  the  silvery  haze  and  the  twinkling  willow- 
shoots. 

"  Answer  him,  by  Thor's  Stone,"  said  Jonas. 

Again  she  hesitated  and  passed  her  hand  over  her 
face. 

"  Answer  him,"  whispered  Jonas.  **  If  you  are  true, 
do  as  I  say.     If  false,  be  silent." 

"  By  Thor's  Stone,"  called  Mehetabel. 

Then  all  the  sound  heard  was  that  of  the  young  man 
brushing  his  way  through  the  rushes  and  willow  boughs. 

In  the  terror,  the  agony  overmastering  her,  she  had 
lost  all  independent  power  of  will.     She  was  as  a  piece 


uS  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

of  mechanism  in  the  hands  of  Jonas.  His  strong, 
masterful  mind  dominated  her,  beat  down  for  a  time 
all  opposition.  She  knew  that  to  summon  Iver  was  to 
call  him  to  a  fearful  struggle,  perhaps  to  his  death,  and 
yet  the  faculty  of  resistance  was  momentarily  gone  from 
her.  She  tried  to  collect  her  thoughts.  She  could  not. 
She  strove  to  think  what  she  ought  to  do,  she  was  un- 
able to  frame  a  thought  in  her  mind  that  whirled  and 
reeled. 

Bideabout  stooped  and  picked  up  a  gun  he  had  been 
carrying,  and  had  dropped  on  the  turf  when  he  laid  hold 
of  his  wife. 

Now  he  placed  the  barrel  across  the  anvil  stone,  with 
the  muzzle  directed  whence  came  the  sound  of  the 
advance  of  Iver. 

Jonas  went  behind  the  stone  and  bent  one  knee  to 
the  ground. 

Mehetabel  heard  the  click  as  he  spanned  the  trigger. 

"  Stand  on  one  side,"  said  Jonas,  in  a  low  tone,  in 
which  were  mingled  rage  and  exultation.  "  Call  him 
again." 

She  was  silent.  Lest  she  should  speak  she  pressed 
both  her  hands  to  her  mouth. 

"  Call  him  again,"  said  Jonas.  "  I  will  receive  him 
with  a  dab  of  lead  in  his  heart." 

She  would  not  call. 

"  On  your  obedience  and  truth,  of  which  you  vaunt," 
persisted  Jonas. 

Should  she  utter  a  cry  of  warning  ?  Would  he  com- 
prehend ?  Would  that  arrest  him,  make  him  retrace 
his  steps,  escape  what  menaced? 

Whether  she  cried  or  not  he  would  come  on.  He 
knew  Thor's  Stone  as  well  as  she.  They  had  often 
visited  it  together  as  children. 

"  If  false,  keep  silence,"  said  Jonas,  looking  up  at  her 
from  where  he  knelt.  **  If  true,  bid  him  come — to  his 
death,  that  I  may  carry  out  your  wish,  and  rid  you  of 
him.     If  the  spirits  won't  help  you,  I  will." 

Then  she  shrilly  cried,  *'  Iver,  come  !  " 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  149 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A  SHOT. 

After  Bideabout  had  done  his  business  in  Godal- 
ming  he  had  returned  to  the  Punch-Bowl. 

The  news  had  reached  his  ears  that  a  deer  had  been 
seen  on  the  Moor,  and  he  knew  that  on  the  following 
day  many  guns  would  be  out,  as  every  man  in  Thursley 
was  a  sportsman.  With  characteristic  cunning  he  re- 
solved to  forestall  his  fellows,  go  forth  at  night,  which 
he  might  well  do  when  the  moon  was  full,  and  secure 
the  deer  for  himself. 

As  he  left  the  house,  he  encountered  his  sister. 

"  Where  are  you  going  off  to  ?  "  she  inquired.  "  And 
got  a  gun  too." 

He  informed  her  of  his  intention. 

"  Ah  !  you'll  give  us  some  of  the  venison,"  said  she. 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  answered  the  Broom- 
Squire,  churlishly. 

"  So  you  are  going  stag-hunting  ?  That's  purely," 
laughed  she. 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  I  should  have  thought  you'd  best  a'  gone  after 
your  own  wife,  and  brought  her  home." 

''  She  is  all  right— at  the  Ship." 

"  I  know  she  is  at  the  Ship — just  where  she  ought 
not  to  be ;  just  where  you  should  not  let  her  be." 

"  She'll  earn  a  little  money." 

"Oh,  money!"  scoffed  Sarah  Rocliffe.  "What 
fools  men  be,  and  set  themselves  up  as  wiser  than  all 
the  world  of  women.  You've  had  Iver  Verstage  here  ; 
you've  invited  him  over  to  paint  your  Matabel  ;  and 
here  he  has  been,  admiring  her,  saying  soft  things  to 
her,  and   turnin'    her   head.     Sometimes   you've  been 


150  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

present.     Most   times   you've  been  away.     And  now 
you  Ve  sent  her  to  the  Ship,  and  you  are  off  stag  huntin'.** 
Then  with  strident  voice,  the  woman  sang,  and  looked 
maHciously  at  her  brother. 

"  Oh,  it  blew  a  pleasant  gale, 

As  a  frigate  under  sail, 
Came  a-bearing  to  the  south  along  the  strand, 

With  her  swelling  canvas  spread, 

But  without  an  ounce  of  lead. 
And  a  signalling,  alack !  she  was  ill-manned." 

With  a  laugh,  and  a  snap  of  her  fingers  in  Bide- 
about's  face,  she  repeated  tauntingly  : — 

"  And  a-signalling,  alack !  she  was  ill-manned." 

Then  she  burst  forth  again  : — 

"  She  was  named  the  Virgin  Dove, 
With  a  lading,  all  of  love. 
And  she  signalled,  that  for  Venus  (Venice)  she  was  bound, 
But  a  pilot  who  could  steer. 
She  required,  for  sore  her  fear. 
Lest  without  one  she  should  chance  to  run  aground." 

"  Be  silent,  you  croaking  raven,"  shouted  the  Broom- 
Squire.  "  If  you  think  to  mock  me,  you  are  wrong. 
I  know  well  enough  what  I  am  about.  As  for  that 
painting  chap,  he  is  gone — gone  to  Guildford." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  Because  the  landlady  said  as  much." 

'*  What— to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  me." 

Mrs.  Rocliffe  laughed  mockingly. 

**  Oh,  Bideabopt,"  she  said,  "  did  not  that  open  your 
eyes  ?  What  did  Sanna  Verstage  mean  when  she  asked 
you  to  allow  your  wife  to  go  to  the  inn  !  What  did 
she  mean  but  this  ? "  she  mimicked  the  mistress, 
"  *  Please,  Master  Bideabout,  may  Matabel  come  to  me 
for  a  day  or  two — that  naughty  boy  of  mine  is  away 
now.  So  don't  be  frightened.  I  know  very  well  that 
if  he  were  at  the  Ship  you  might  hesitate  to  send 
Matabel  there.* "  Then  in  her  own  tones  Sarah  Rocliffe 
said.  "  That  is  the  meaning  of  it.  But  I  don't  believe 
that  he  is  gone." 

"  Sanna  Verstage  don't  tell  lies." 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRK.  151 

"  If  he  were  gone,  Matabel  would  not  be  so  keen  to 
go  there." 

"  Matabel  was  not  keen.     She  did  not  wish  to  go." 

"She  did  wish  it ;  but  she  made 'a  pretence  before 
you  that  she  did  not." 

**  Hold  your  slanderous  tongue,"  shouted  Jonas. 
''  I'll  not  hear  another  word," 

"  Then  you  must  shut  your  ears  to  what  all  the  parish 
is  saying." 

Thereupon  she  told  him  what  she  had  seen,  with 
amplifications  of  her  own.  She  was  glad  to  have  the 
opportunity  of  angering  or  wounding  her  brother  ;  of 
sowing  discord  between  him  and  his  wife. 

When  he  parted  from  her,  she  cast  after  him  the  re- 
mark— "  I  believe  he  is  still  at  the  Ship." 

In  a  mood  the  reverse  of  cheerful,  angry  with  Mehet- 
abel,  raging  against  Iver,  cursing  himself,  and  overflow- 
ing with  spite  against  his  sister  Jonas  went  to  the  Moor 
in  quest  of  the  strayed  deer.  He  knew  very  well  that 
his  sister  bore  Mehetabel  a  grudge  ;  he  was  sufificiently 
acquainted  with  her  rancorous  humor  and  unscrupulous 
tongue  to  know  that  what  she  said  was  not  to  be  relied 
on,  yet  discount  as  he  might  what  she  had  told  him, 
he  was  assured  that  a  substratum  of  truth  lay  at  the 
bottom. 

Before  entering  the  morass  Jonas  halted,  and  leaning 
on  his  gun,  considered  whether  he  should  not  goto  the 
tavern,  reclaim  his  wife  and  reconduct  her  home,  in- 
stead of  going  after  game.  But  he  thought  that  such 
a  proceeding  might  be  animadverted  upon ;  he  relied 
upon  Mrs.  Verstage's  words,  that  Iver  was  departing 
to  his  professional  work,  and  he  was  eager  to  secure 
the  game  for  himself. 

Accordingly  he  directed  his  course  to  the  Moor,  and 
stole  along  softly,  listening  for  the  least  sound  of  the 
deer,  and  keeping  his  eye  on  the  alert  to  observe  her. 

He  had  been  crouching  in  a  bush  near  the  pool 
when  he  was  startled  by  the  apparition  of  Mehetabel. 

At  first  he  had  supposed  that  the  sound  of  steps 
proceeded  from  the  advancing  deer,  for  which  he  was 


152  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

on  the  watch,  and  he  lay  close,  with  his  barrel  loaded, 
and  his  finger  on  the  trigger.  But  in  place  of  the  deer 
his  own  wife  approached,  indistinctly  seen  in  the  moon- 
light, so  that  he  did  not  recognize  her.  And  his  heart 
stood  still,  numbed  by  panic,  for  he  thought  he  saw  a 
spirit.    But  as  the  form  drew  near  he  knew  Mehetabel. 

Perplexed,  he  remained  still,  to  observe  her  further 
movements.  Then  he  saw  her  approach  the  stone  of 
Thor,  strike  on  it  with  an  extemporized  hammer,  and 
cry,  "  Save  me  from  him  !     Take  him  away  !  " 

Perhaps  it  was  not  unreasonable  that  he  at  once  con- 
cluded that  she  referred  to  himself. 

He  knew  that  she  did  not  love  him.  Instead  of 
each  day  of  married  life  drawing  more  closely  the 
bonds  that  bound  them  together,  it  really  seemed  to 
relax  such  as  did  exist.  She  became  colder,  withdrew 
more  into  herself,  shrank  from  his  clumsy  amiabilities, 
and  kept  the  door  of  her  heart  resolutely  shut  against 
all  intrusion.  She  went  through  her  household  duties 
perfunctorily,  as  might  a  slave  for  a  hated  master. 

If  she  did  not  love  him,  if  her  married  life  was  be- 
coming intolerable,  then  it  was  obvious  that  she  sought 
relief  from  it,  and  the  only  means  of  relief  open  to  her 
lay  through  his  death. 

But  there  was  something  more  that  urged  her  on  to 
desire  this.  She  not  merely  disliked  him,  but  loved 
another,  and  over  his  coffin  she  would  leap  into 
that  other  man's  arms.  As  Karon  Wyeth  had  aimed 
at  and  secured  the  death  of  her  husband,  so  did 
Mehetabel  seek  deliverance  from  him. 

Bideabout  sprang  from  his  lurking-place  to  check 
her  in  the  midst  of  her  invocation,  and  to  avert  the 
danger  that  menaced  himself.  And  now — he  saw  the 
very  man  draw  nigh  who  had  withdrawn  the  heart  of 
his  wife  from  him,  and  had  made  his  home  miserable; 
the  man  on  behalf  of  whom  Mehetabel  had  summoned 
supernatural  aid  to  rid  her  of  himself. 

Kneeling  behind  Thor's  Stone,  with  the  steel  barrel 
of  his  gun  laid  on  the  anvil,  and  pointed  in  the 
direction  whence  came  Iver's  voice,  he  waited  till  his 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  153 

rival  should  appear,  and  draw  within  range,  that  he 
might  shoot  him  through  the  heart. 

"  Summon  him  again,"  he  whispered. 

"  Iver — come  !  '  called  Mehetabel. 

Then  through  the  illuminated  haze,  like  an  atmos- 
phere of  glow-worm's  light,  himself  black  against  a 
background  of  shining  water,  appeared  the  young  man. 

Jonas  had  his  teeth  clenched  ;  his  breath  hissed  like 
the  threat  of  a  serpent,  as  he  drew  a  long  inspiration 
through  them. 

"You  are  there!"  shouted  Iver,  joyously,  and  ran 
forward. 

She  felt  a  thrill  run  through  the  barrel,  on  which  she 
had  laid  her  hand  ;  she  saw  a  movement  of  the  shoulder 
of  Jonas,  and  was  aware  that  he  was  preparing  to  fire. 

Instantly  she  snatched  the  gun  to  her,  laid  the 
muzzle  against  her  own  side,  and  said  :  '*  Fire  !  "  She 
spoke  again.     *'  So  all  will  be  well." 

Then  she  cried  in  piercing  tones,  "  Iver  !  run  !  run  ! 
he  is  here,  and  he  seeks  to  kill  you." 

Jonas  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  curse,  and  endeav- 
ored to  wrest  the  gun  from  Mehetabel's  hand.  But 
she  held  it  fast.  She  clung  to  it  with  tenacity,  with 
the  whole  of  her  strength,  so  that  he  was  unable  to 
pluck  it  away. 

And  still  she  cried,  '*  Run,  Iver,  run  ;  he  will  kill  you  !  " 

"  Let  go !  "  yelled  Bideabout.  He  set  his  foot 
against  Thor's  Stone  ;  he  twisted  the  gun  about,  he 
turned  it  this  way,  that  way,  to  wrench  it  out  of  her 
hands. 

*'  I  will  not !  "  she  gasped. 

"  It  is  loaded  !     It  will  go  off !  " 

"  I  care  not." 

"  Oh,  no  !  so  long  as  it  shoots  me." 

"  Send  the  lead  into  my  heart  !  " 

"  Then  let  go.  But  no !  the  bullet  is  not  for  you. 
Let  go,  I  say,  or  I  will  brain  )/ou  with  the  butt  end, 
and  then  shoot  him  !  " 

''  I  will  not  !     Kill  me  if  you  will !  " 

Strong,  athletic,  lithe  in  her  movements,  Mehetabel 


154  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

was  a  match  for  the  small  muscular  Jonas.  If  he  suc- 
ceeded for  a  moment  in  twisting  the  gun  out  of  her 
hands  it  was  but  for  an  instant.  She  had  caught  the 
barrel  again  at  another  point. 

He  strove  to  beat  her  knuckles  against  Thor's  Stone, 
but  she  was  too  dexterous  for  him.  By  a  twist  she 
brought  his  hand  against  the  block  instead  of  her  own. 

With  an  oath  he  cast  himself  upon  her,  by  the  im- 
pact, by  the  weight,  to  throw  her  down.  Under  the 
burden  she  fell  on  her  knees,  but  did  not  relinquish 
her  hold  on  the  gun.  On  the  contrary  she  obtained 
greater  power  over  it,  and  held  the  barrel  athwart  her 
bosom,  and  wove  her  arms  around  it. 

Iver  was  hastening  to  her  assistance.  He  saw  that 
some  contest  was  going  on,  but  was  not  able  to  discern 
either  with  whom  Mehetabel  was  grappling  nor  what 
was  the  meaning  of  the  struggle. 

In  his  attempt  to  approach,  Iver  was  regardless 
where  he  trod.  He  sank  over  his  knees  in  the  mire, 
and  was  obliged  to  extricate  himself  before  he  could 
advance. 

With  difficulty,  by  means  of  oziers,  he  succeeded  in 
reaching  firm  soil,  and  then,  with  more  circumspec- 
tion, he  sought  a  way  by  which  he  might  come  to  the 
help  of  Mehetabel. 

Meanwhile,  regardless  of  the  contest  of  human  pas- 
sion, raging  close  by,  the  great  bird  swung  like  a  pen- 
dulum above  the  mere,  and  its  shadow  swayed  below  it. 

"  Let  go !  I  will  murder  you,  if  you  do  not ! " 
hissed  Jonas.  "  You  think  I  will  kill  him.  So  I  will, 
but  I  will  kill  you  first." 

"  Iver  !  help  !  "  cried  Mehetabel ;  her  strength  was 
abandoning  her. 

The  Broom-Squire  dragged  his  kneeling  wife  for- 
ward, and  then  thrust  her  back.  He  held  the  gun  by 
the  stock  and  the  end  of  the  barrel.  The  rest  was 
grappled  by  her,  close  to  her  bosom. 

He  sought  to  throw  her  on  her  face,  then  on  her 
back.     So  only  could  he  wrench  the  gun  away. 

"  Ah,  ah  !  "  with  a  shout  of  triumph. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  155 

He  had  disengaged  the  barrel  from  her  arm.  He 
turned  it  sharply  upward,  to  twist  it  out  of  her  hold 
she  had  with  the  other  arm. 

Then — suddenly — an  explosion,  a 'flash,  a  report,  a 
cry  ;  and  Bideabout  staggered  back  and  fell. 

A  rush  of  wings. 

The  large  bird  that  had  vibrated  above  the  water 
had  been  alarmed,  and  now  flew  away. 


156  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE, 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  IRON-STONE  HAMMER. 

For  a  couple  of  minutes  complete,  death-like  silence 
ensued. 

Mehetabel,  panting,  everything  swimming,  turning 
before  her  eyes,  remained  motionless  on  her  knees,  but 
rested  her  hands  on  Thor's  Stone,  to  save  herself  from 
falling  on  her  face. 

What  had  happened  she  hardly  knew.  The  gun 
had  been  discharged,  and  then  had  fallen  before  her 
knees.  Whom  had  it  injured  ?  What  was  the  injury 
done? 

She  was  unable  to  see,  through  the  veil  of  tears  that 
covered  her  eyes.  She  had  not  voice  wherewith  to 
speak. 

Iver,  moreover,  stood  motionless,  holding  to  a  willow. 
He  also  was  ignorant  of  what  had  occurred.  Was  the 
shot  aimed  at  him,  or  at  Mehetabel?     Who  had  fired  ? 

Crouching  against  a  bush,  into  which  he  had  staggered 
and  then  collapsed,  was  the  Broom-Squire.  A  sudden 
spasm  of  pain  had  shot  through  him  at  the  flash  of  the 
gun.  That  he  was  struck  he  knew,  to  what  extent  in- 
jured he  could  not  guess. 

As  he  endeavored  to  raise  one  hand,  the  left,  in 
which  was  the  seat  of  pain,  he  became  aware  that  his 
arm  was  stiff  and  powerless.  He  could  not  move  his 
fingers. 

The  blood  was  coursing  over  his  hand  in  a  warm 
stream. 

A  horrible  thought  rushed  through  his  brain.  He 
was  at  the  mercy  of  that  woman  who  had  invoked  the 
Devil  against  him,  and  of  the  lover  on  whose  account 
she  had  desired  his  death.     She  had  called,  and   in 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  157 

part  had  been  answered.  He  was  wounded,  and  in- 
capable of  defending  himself.  This  guilty  pair  would 
complete  the  work,  kill  him  ;  blow  out  his  brains,  beat 
his  head  with  the  stock  of  the  ^un,  and  cast  his  body 
into  the  marsh. 

Who  would  know  how  he  came  by  his  death  ?  His 
sister  was  aware  that  he  had  gone  to  the  moor  to  stalk 
deer.  What  evidence  would  be  producible  against 
this  couple  should  they  complete  the  work  and  dispose 
of  him? 

Strangely  unaccountable  as  it  may  seem,  yet  it  was 
so,  that  at  the  moment,  rage  at  the  thought  that, 
should  they  kill  him,  Mehetabel  and  Iver  would  escape 
punishment,  was  the  prevailing  thought  and  predomi- 
nant passion  in  Jonas's  mind,  and  not  by  any  means 
fear  for  himself.  This  made  him  disregard  his  pain, 
indifferent  to  his  fate. 

"  I  have  still  my  right  hand  and  my  teeth,"  he  said. 
"  I  will  beat  and  tear  that  they  may  bear  marks  that 
shall  awake  suspicion." 

But  his  head  swam,  he  turned  sick  and  faint,  and 
became  insensible. 

When  Jonas  recovered  consciousness  he  lay  on  his 
back,  and  saw  faces  bowed  over  him — that  of  his  wife 
and  that  of  Iver,  the  two  he  hated  most  cordially  in 
the  world,  the  two  at  least  he  hated  to  see  together. 

He  struggled  to  rise  and  bite,  like  a  wild  beast,  but 
was  held  down  by  Iver. 

"  Curse  you  !  will  you  kill  me  so  ?  "  he  yelled,  snap- 
ping with  his  great  jaws,  trying  to  reach  and  rend  the 
hands  that  restrained  him. 

''  Lie  still,  Bideabout,"  said  the  young  painter,  "  are 
you  crazed  ?  We  will  do  you  no  harm.  Mehetabel 
is  binding  up  your  arm.  As  far  as  I  can  make  out  the 
shot  has  run  up  it  and  is  lodged  in  the  shoulder." 

"  I  care  not.  Let  me  go.  You  will  murder  me." 
Mehetabel  had  torn  a  strip  from  her  skirt  and  was 
making  a  bandage  of  it. 

"  Jonas,"  she  said,  ''  pray  lie  quiet,  or  sit  up  and  be 
reasonable.     I  must  do  what  I  can  to  stay  the  blood." 


158  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

As  he  began  to  realize  that  he  was  being  attended 
to,  and  that  Iver  and  Mehetabel  had  no  intention  to 
hurt  him,  the  Broom-Squire  became  more  composed 
and  patient. 

His  brows  were  knit  and  his  teeth  set.  He  avoided 
looking  into  the  faces  of  those  who  attended  to  him. 

Presently  the  young  painter  helped  him  to  rise,  and 
offered  his  arm.     This  Jonas  refused. 

"  I  can  walk  by  myself,"  said  he,  churlishly  ;  then 
turning  to  Mehetabel,  he  said,  with  a  sneer,  "  The 
devil  never  does  aught  but  by  halves." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  The  bullet  has  entered  my  arm  and  not  my  heart, 
as  you  desired." 

*'  Go,"  she  said  to  the  young  artist ;  "  I  pray  you 
go  and  leave  me  with  him.     I  will  take  him  home." 

Iver  demurred. 

'*  I  entreat  you  to  go,"  she  urged.  **  Go  to  your 
mother.  Tell  her  that  my  husband  has  met  with  an 
accident,  and  that  I  am  called  away  to  attend  him. 
That  is  to  serve  as  an  excuse.  I  must,  I  verily  must 
go  with  him.  Do  not  say  more.  Do  not  say  where 
this  happened." 

''Why  not?" 

She  did  not  answer.  He  considered  for  a  moment 
and  then  dimly  saw  that  she  was  right. 

"  Iver,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone,  so  that  Jonas  might 
not  hear,  "you  should  not  have  followed  me;  then 
this  would  never  have  happened." 

"  If  I  had  not  followed  you  he  would  have  been  your 
murderer,  Matabel." 

Then,  reluctantly,  he  went.  But  ever  and  anon 
turned  to  listen  or  to  look. 

When  he  was  out  of  sight,  then  Mehetabel  said  to 
her  husband,  "  Lean  on  me,  and  let  me  help  you 
along." 

"  I  can  go  by  myself,"  he  said  bitterly.  "  I  would 
not  have  his  arm.  I  will  have  none  of  yours,  Giv^  me 
my  gun.*' 

"  No,  Jonas,  I  will  carry  that  for  you." 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRK  159 

Then  he  put  forth  his  uninjured  right  hand,  and 
took  the  kidney-iron  stone  from  the  anvil  block,  on 
which  Mehetabel  had  left  it.      , 

*'  What  do  you  want  with  that  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  may  have  to  knock  also,"  he  answered.  "  Is  it 
you  alone  who  are  allowed  to  have  wishes  ?  " 

She  said  no  more,  but  stepped  along,  not  swiftly, 
cautiously,  and  turning  at  every  step,  to  see  that  he 
was  following,  and  that  he  had  put  his  foot  on  sub- 
stance that  would  support  his  weight. 

'*  Why  do  you  look  at  me  ?  "  he  asked  captiously. 

"Jonas,  you  are  in  pain,  and  giddy  with  pain.  You 
may  lose  your  footing,  and  go  into  the  water." 

"  So — that  now  is  your  desire?" 

"  Ipray  you,"  she  answered,  in  distress,  "  Jonas,  do 
not  entertain  such  evil  thoughts." 

They  attained  a  ridge  of  sand.  She  fell  back  and 
paced  at  his  side. 

Bideabout  observed  her  out  of  the  corners  of  his 
eyes.  By  the  moonlight  he  could  see  how  finely,  nobly 
cut  was  her  profile ;  he  could  see  the  glancing  of  the 
moon  in  the  tears  that  suffused  her  cheeks. 

"You  know  who  shot  me?"  he  inquired,  in  a  low 
tone. 

"  I  know  nothing,  Jonas,  but  that  there  was  a 
struggle,  and  that  during  this  struggle,  by  accident " 

"  You  did  it." 

"  No,  Jonas.     I  cannot  think  it." 

"  It  was  so.  You  touched  the  trigger.  You  knew 
that  the  piece  was  on  full  cock." 

"  It  was  altogether  an  accident.  I  knew  nothing.  I 
was  conscious  of  nothing,  save  that  I  was  trying  to 
prevent  you  from  committing  a  great  crime." 

"A  great  crime!"  jeered  he.  "You  thought  only 
how  you  might  save  the  life  of  your  love." 

Mehetabel  stood  still  and  turned  to  him. 

"  Jonas,  do  not  say  that.  You  cruelly,  you  wrong- 
fully misjudge  me  I  will  tell  you  all,  if  you  will.  I 
never  would  have  hidden  anything  from  you  if  I  had 
not  known  how  yoy  would  take  and  use  what  I  saldi 


i6o  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

Iver  and  I  were  child  friends,  almost  brother  and  sister. 
I  always  cared  for  him,  and  I  think  he  liked  me.  He 
went  away  and  I  saw  nothing  of  him.  Then,  at  our 
wedding,  he  returned  home ;  and  since  then  I  have 
seen  him  a  good  many  times — you,  yourself  asked  him 
to  the  Punch-Bowl,  and  bade  me  stand  for  him  to  paint. 
I  cannot  deny  that  I  care  for  him,  and  that  he  likes 
me." 

"  As  brother  and  sister  ?  " 

**  No — not  as  brother  and  sister.  We  are  children 
no  longer.  But,  Jonas,  I  have  no  wish,  no  thought 
other  than  that  he  should  leave  Thursley,  and  that  I 
should  never,  never,  never  see  his  face  again.  Of 
thought,  of  word,  of  act  against  my  duty  to  you  I  am 
guiltless.  Of  thoughts,  as  far  as  I  have  been  able  to 
hold  my  thoughts  in  chains,  of  words,  of  acts  I  have 
nothing  to  reproach  myself  with,  there  have  been  none 
but  what  might  be  known  to  you,  in  a  light  clearer 
than  that  poured  down  by  this  moon.  You  will  believe 
me,  Jonas." 

He  looked  searchingly  into  her  beautiful,  pale  face 
— now  white  as  snow  in  the  moonlight.  After  a  long 
pause,  he  answered,  "  I  do  not  believe  you." 

"  I  can  say  no  more,"  she  spoke  and  sighed,  and 
went  forward. 

He  now  lagged  behind. 

They  stepped  off  the  sand  ridge,  and  were  again  in 
treacherous  soil,  neither  land  nor  water,  but  land  and 
water  tossed  together  in  strips  and  tags  and  tatters. 

"  Go  on,"  he  said.     "  I  will  step  after  you." 

Presently  she  looked  behind  her,  and  saw  him 
swinging  his  right  hand,  in  which  was  the  lump  of 
ironstone. 

"  Why  do  you  turn  your  head  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  look  for  you." 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,  Jonas." 

"  Sorry— because  of  my  arm  ?  ". 

''Because  you  are  unable  to  believe  a  true  woman's 
.word."     . 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  i6i 

"  I  do  not  understand  you." 

'^  No — I  do  not  suppose  you  can." 

Then  he  screamed,  "  No,  I  do  not  believe."  He 
leaped  forward,  and  struck  hef  on  the  head  with  the 
nodule  of  iron,  and  felled  her  at  his  feet. 

"  There,"  said  he  ;  "  with  this  stone  you  sought  my 
death,  and  with  it  I  cause  yours." 

Then  he  knelt  where  she  lay  motionless,  extended, 
in  the  marsh,  half  out  of  the  water,  half  submerged. 

He  gripped  her  by  the  throat,  and  by  sheer  force, 
with  his  one  available  arm,  thrust  her  head  under 
water. 

The  moonlight  played  in  the  ripples  as  they  closed 
over  her  face  ;  it  surely  was  not  water,  but  liquid  silver, 
fluid  diamond. 

He  endeavored  to  hold  her  head  under  the  surface. 
She  did  not  struggle.  She  did  not  even  move.  But 
suddenly  a  pang  shot  through  him,  as  though  he  had 
been  pierced  by  another  bullet.  The  bandage  about 
his  wound  gave  way,  and  the  hot  blood  broke  forth 
again. 

Jonas  reeled  back  in  terror,  lest  bis  consciousness 
should  desert  him,  and  he  sank  for  an  instant  insensible, 
face  foremost,  into  the  water. 

As  it  was,  where  he  knelt,  among  the  water-plants, 
they  were  yielding  under  his  weight. 

He  scrambled  away,  and  clung  to  a  distorted  pine 
on  the  summit  of  a  sand-knoll. 

Giddy  and  faint,  he  laid  his  head  against  the  bush, 
and  inhaled  the  invigorating  odor  of  the  turpentine. 
Gradually  he  recovered,  and  was  able  to  stand  un- 
supported. 

Then  he  looked  in  the  direction  where  Mehetabel 
lay.  She  had  not  stirred.  The  bare  white  arms  were 
exposed  and  gleaming  in  the  moonlight.  The  face  he 
did  not  see.     He  shrank  from  looking  towards  it. 

Then  he  slunk  away,  homewards. 
II 


i6»  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

AN  APPARITION. 

When  Bideabout  arrived  in  the  Punch-Bowl,  as  he 
passed  the  house  of  the  RocHffes,  he  saw  his  sister, 
with  a  pail,  coming  from  the  cow-house.  One  of  the 
cattle  was  ill,  and  she  had  been  carrying  it  a  bran-mash. 

He  went  to  her,  and  said,  "  Sally  !  " 

"  Here  I  be,  Jonas,  what  now?  " 

**  I  want  you  badly  at  my  place.  There's  been  an 
accident." 

"  What  ?     To  whom  ?     Not  to  old  Clutch  ?  " 

"  Old  Clutch  be  bothered.  It  is  I  be  hurted  terr'ble 
bad.  In  my  arm.  If  it  weren't  dark  here,  under  the 
trees,  you'd  see  the  blood." 

"  I'll  come  direct.  That's  just  about  it.  When  she's 
wanted,  your  wife  is  elsewhere.  When  she  ain't,  she's 
all  over  the  shop.  I'll  clap  down  the  pail  inside.  You 
go  on  and  I'll  follow." 

Jonas  unlocked  his  house,  and  entered.  He  groped 
about  for  the  tinder-box,  but  when  he  had  found  it 
was  unable  to  strike  a  light  with  one  hand  only.  He 
seated  himself  in  the  dark,  and  fell  into  a  cold  sweat. 

Not  only  was  he  in  great  pain,  but  his  mind  was  ill 
at  ease,  full  of  vague  terrors.  There  was  something  in 
the  corner  that  he  could  see,  slightly  stirring.  A 
little  moonlight  entered,  and  a  fold  flickered  in  the 
ray,  then  disappeared  again.  Again  something  came 
within  the  light.  Was  it  a  foot?  Was  it  the  bottom 
of  a  skirt  ?  He  shrank  back  against  the  wall,  as  far  as 
possible  from  this  mysterious,  restless  form. 

He  looked  round  to  see  that  the  scullery  door  was 
open,  through  which  to  escape,  should  this  thing  move 
towards  him. 

The  sow  was  grunting  and  squealing  in  her  stye,  Jonas 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  163 

hailed  the  sound  ;  there  was  nothing  alarming  in  that. 
Had  all  been  still  in  and  about  the  house,  there  might 
have  come  from  that  undefined  shadow  in  the  corner 
a  voice,  a  groan,  a  sigh — he  knew  not  what.  With  an 
exclamation  of  relief  he  saw  the  flash  of  Sally  Rocliffe's 
lantern  pass  the  window. 

Next  moment  she  stood  in  the  doorway. 

**  Where  are  you,  Jonas  ?  " 

"  I  am  here.  Hold  up  the  lantern,  Sarah.  What's 
that  in  the  corner  there,  movin'  ?  " 

"  Where,  Jonas  ?  " 

*'  There — you  are  almost  touchin'  it.  Turn  the  light." 

"  That,"  said  his  sister ;  **  why  don'ty  know  your 
own  old  oilcloth  overcoat  as  was  father's,  don'ty  know 
that  when  you  see  it  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  see  it,  but  indistinct  like,"  answered  Jonas. 

His  courage,  his  strength,  his  insolence  were  gone 
out  of  him. 

"  Now,  what's  up  ?  "  asked  Sarah.  "  How  have  you 
been  hurted  ?  " 

Jonas  told  a  rambling  story.  He  had  been  in  the 
Marsh.  He  had  seen  the  deer,  but  in  his  haste  to  get 
within  range  he  had  run,  caught  his  foot  in  a  bramble, 
had  stumbled,  and  the  gun  had  been  discharged,  and 
the  bullet  had  entered  his  arm. 

Mrs.  Rocliffe  at  once  came  to  him  to  examine  the 
wound. 

"  Why,  Jonas,  you  never  did  this  up  yourself. 
There's  some  one  been  at  your  arm  already.  Here's 
this  band  be  off  Matabel's  petticoat.  How  came  you 
by  that  ?  " 

He  was  confounded,  and  remained  silent. 

"  And  where  is  the  gun,  Jonas  ?  " 

"The  gun!" 

He  had  forgotten  all  about  it  in  his  panic.  Meheta- 
bel  had  been  carrying  it  when  he  beat  her  down.  He 
had  thought  of  it  no  more.  He  had  thought  of  noth- 
ing after  the  deed,  but  how  to  escape  from  the  spot  as 
speedily  as  possible. 

"  I  suppose  I've  lost  it,"  he  said.     "  Somewhere  in 


i64  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

the  Moor.  You  see  when  I  was  wounded,  I  hadn't 
the  head  to  think  of  anything  else." 

Mrs.  Rocliffe  was  examining  his  arm.  The  sleeve  of 
his  coat  had  been  cut. 

"  I  don't  understand  your  tale  a  scrap,  Jonas,"  she 
said.  "  Who  used  his  knife  to  slit  up  your  sleeve? 
And  how  comes  your  arm  to  be  bandaged  with  this  bit 
of  Matabel's  dress?" 

Bideabout  was  uneasy.  The  tale  he  had  told  was 
untenable.  There  was  a  necessity  for  it  to  be  supple- 
mented. But  his  condition  of  alarm  and  pain  made  him 
unable  readily  to  frame  a  story  that  would  account  for 
all,  and  satisfy  his  sister. 

**  Jonas,"  said  Sarah,  "  Fm  sure  you  have  seen  Mata- 
bel,  and  she  did  this  for  you.     Where  is  she  ?  " 

Bideabout  trembled.  He  thrust  his  sister  from  him, 
saying,  irritably,  "  Why  do  you  worrit  me  with  ques- 
tions?    My  arm  wants  attendin' to." 

"  I  can't  do  much  to  that,"  answered  the  woman. 
"  A  doctor  should  look  to  that.  I'll  go  and  call 
Samuel,  and  bid  him  ride  away  after  one." 

"  I  won't  be  left  alone ! "  exclaimed  the  Broom- 
Squire,  in  a  sudden  access  of  terror. 

Sarah  Rocliffe  deliberately  took  the  lantern  and  held 
it  to  his  face. 

"  Jonas,"  she  said,  "  I'll  do  nuthin'  more  for  you  till 
I  know  the  whole  truth.  You've  seen  your  wife  and 
there's  somethin'  passed  between  you.  I  see  by  your 
manner  that  all  is  not  right.  Where  is  Matabel  ?  You 
haven't  been  after  the  deer  on  the  Moor.  You  have 
been  to  the  Ship." 

"  That  is  a  lie,"  answered  Bideabout.  "  I  have  been 
on  the  Moor.  'Tis  there  I  got  shot,  and,  if  you  will 
have  it  all  out,  it  was  Matabel  who  shot  me." 

"  Matabel  shot  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  was.  She  shot  me  to  prevent  me  from 
killin'  him." 

"Whom?' 

"  You  know — that  painter  fellow."  ' 

*'  So  that  is  the  truth  ?     Then  where  is  she  ?  " 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  165 

The  Broom-Squire  hesitated  and  moved  his  feet  un- 
easily. 

"  Jonas/*  said  his  sister,  **  I  will  know  all." 

"  Then  know  it,"  he  answered  angrily.  *'  Somehow, 
as  she  was  helpin*  me  along,  her  foot  slipped  and  she 
fell  into  the  water.  I  had  but  one  arm,  and  I  were 
stiff  wi*  pains.  What  could  I  do  ?  I  did  what  I  could, 
but  that  weren't  much.  I  couldn't  draw  her  out  o'  the 
mire.  That  would  take  a  man  wi'  two  good  arms,  and 
she  was  able  to  scramble  out  if  she  liked.  But  she's 
that  perverse,  there's  no  knowing,  she  might  drown 
herself  just  to  spite  me." 

"Why  did  you  not  speak  of  that  at  once?" 

"  Arn't  I  hurted  terr'ble  bad  ?  Arn't  I  got  a  broken 
arm  or  somethin'  like  it  ?  When  a  chap  is  in  racks  o' 
pain  he  han't  got  all  his  wits  about  him.  I  know  I 
wanted  help,  for  myself,  first,  and  next,  for  her ;  and 
now  I've  told  you  that  she*s  in  the  Moor  somewhere. 
She  may  ha'  crawled  out,  or  she  may  be  lyin'  there.  I 
run  on,  so  fast  as  possible,  in  my  condition,  to  call  for 
help." 

"  Where  is  she?     Where  did  you  leave  her?  " 

**  Right  along  between  here  and  Thor's  Stone. 
There's  an  old  twisted  Scotch  pine  with  magpies'  nests 
in  it — I  reckon  more  nests  than  there  be  green  stuff  on 
the  tree.     It's  just  about  there." 

"  Jonas,"  said  the  sister,  who  had  turned  deadly 
white,  and  who  lowered  the  lantern,  unable  longer  to 
hold  it  to  her  brother's  face  with  steady  hand,  "  Jonas, 
you  never  ort  to  ha'  married  into  a  gallus  family ; 
you've  ketched  the  complaint.  It's  bad  enough  to 
have  men  hanged  on  top  o'  Hind  Head.  We  don't 
want  another  gibbet  down  at  the  bottom  of  the  Punch- 
Bowl,  and  that  for  one  of  ourselves." 

Then  voices  were  audible  outside,  and  a  light  flick- 
ered through  the  window. 

In  abject  terror  the  Broom-Squire  screamed  "  Sally, 
save  me,  hide  me  ;  it's  the  constables  !  " 

He  cowered  into  a  corner,  then  darted  into  the  back 
kitchen,  and  groped  for  some  place  of  concealment. 


1 66  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

He  heard  thence  the  voices  more  distinctly.  There 
was  a  tramp  of  feet  in  his  kitchen  ;  a  flare  of  fuller  light 
than  that  afforded  by  Mrs.  Rocliffe's  lantern  ran  in 
through  the  door  he  had  left  ajar. 

The  sweat  poured  over  his  face  and  blinded  his  eyes. 

Bideabout's  anxiety  was  by  no  means  diminished 
when  he  recognized  one  of  the  voices  in  his  front 
kitchen  as  that  of  Iver. 

Had  Iver  watched  him  instead  of  returning  to  the 
Ship?  Had  he  followed  in  his  track,  spying  what  he 
did  ?  Had  he  seen  what  had  taken  place  by  the 
twisted  pine  with  the  magpies'  nests  in  it  ?  And  if  so, 
had  he  hasted  to  Thursley  to  call  out  the  constable, 
and  to  arrest  him  as  the  murderer  of  his  wife. 

Trembling,  gnawing  the  nails  of  his  right  hand, 
cowering  behind  the  copper,  he  waited,  not  knowing 
whither  to  fly. 

Then  the  door  was  thrust  open,  and  Sally  Rocliffe 
came  in  and  called  to  him  :  "  Jonas !  here  is  Master 
Iver  Verstage — very  good  he  is  to  you — he  has  brought 
a  doctor  to  attend  to  your  arm." 

The  wretched  man  grasped  his  sister  by  the  wrist, 
drew  her  to  him,  and  whispered — "  That  is  not  true  ;  it 
is  the  constable." 

"  No,  Jonas.  Do  not  be  a  fool.  Do  not  make  folk 
suspect  evil,"  she  answered  in  an  undertone.  "  There 
is  a  surgeon  staying  at  the  Ship,  and  this  is  the  gentle- 
man who  has  come  to  assist  you." 

Mistrustfully,  reluctantly,  Jonas  crept  from  his  hid- 
ing place,  and  came  behind  his  sister  to  the  doorway, 
where  he  touched  his  forelock,  looked  about  him  sus- 
piciously, and  said — "  Your  servant,  gentlemen.  Sorry 
to  trouble  you  ;  but  I've  met  with  an  accident.  The 
gun  went  off  and  sent  a  bullet  into  my  arm.  Be  you  a 
doctor,  sir?"  he  asked,  eyeing  a  stranger,  who  accom- 
panied Iver. 

**  I  am  a  surgeon  ;  happily,  now  lodging  at  the  Ship, 
and  Mr.  Verstage  informed  me  of  what  had  occurred, 
so  I  have  come  to  offer  my  assistance." 

Jonas  was  somewhat  reassured,  but  his  cunning  eyes 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  167 

fixed  on  Iver  observed  that  the  young  painter  was  look- 
ing around,  in  quest,  doubtless,  of  Mehetabel. 

**  I  must  have  hot  water.  Who  will  attend  to  me?  " 
asked  the  surgeon. 

"  I  will  do  what  is  necessary,'*  said  Mrs.  Rocliffe. 

"  Will  you  go  to  bed  ?  "  asked  the  surgeon.  "  I  can 
best  look  to  you  then." 

Jonas  shook  his  head.  He  would  have  the  wound 
examined  there,  as  he  sat  in  his  arm-chair. 

Then  came  the  inquiry  from  Iver — "  Where  is  your 
wife,  Jonas?     I  thought  she  had  returned  with  you." 

"  My  wife  ?     She  has  lagged  behind." 

"  Not  possible.     She  was  to  assist  you  home." 

"  I  needed  no  assistance." 

"  She  ought  to  be  here  to  receive  instructions  from 
the  doctor." 

"  These  can  be  given  to  my  sister." 

"  But,  Bideabout,  where  is  she  ?  " 

Jonas  was  silent,  confused,  alarmed. 

Iver  became  uneasy. 

"  Bideabout,  where  is  Matabel.  She  must  be  sum- 
moned." 

"  It's  nort  to  you  where  she  be,"  answered  the  Broom- 
Squire  savagely. 

Then  Mrs.  Rocliffe  stepped  forward. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  she  said.  *'  My  brother  is  that  mad 
wi'  pain,  he  don't  know  what  to  think,  and  say,  and 
do.  As  they  was  coming  along  together,  loving-like, 
as  man  and  wife,  she  chanced  to  slip  and  fall  into  the 
water,  and  Jonas,  having  his  arm  bad,  couldn't  help 
her  out,  as  he  was  a-minded,  and  he  runned  accordin* 
here,  to  tell  me,  and  I  was  just  about  sendin*  my 
Samuel  to  find  and  help  her." 

"  Matabel  in  the  water — drowned  !  " 

"  Jonas  did  not  say  that.     She  failed  in." 

"  Matabel— fell  in  ! " 

Iver  looked  from  Mrs.  Rocliffe  towards  Jonas. 
There  was  something  in  the  Broom-Squire's  look  that 
did  not  satisfy  him.  It  was  not  pain  alone  that  so  dis- 
turbed his  face,  and  gave  it  such  ghastly  whiteness. 


i68  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

"  Bideabout,"  said  he,  gravely,  "  I  must  and  will 
have  a  proper  explanation.  I  cannot  take  your  sister's 
story.  Speak  to  me  yourself.  After  what  I  had  seen 
between  you  and  Matabel,  I  must  necessarily  feel  un- 
easy. I  must  have  a  plain  explanation  from  your  own 
lips." 

Jonas  was  silent ;  he  looked  furtively  from  side  to 
side. 

"  I  will  be  answered,"  said  Iver,  with  vehemence. 

"  Who  is  to  force  me  to  speak  ?  "  asked  the  Broom- 
Squire,  surlily. 

"  If  I  cannot,  I  shall  fetch  the  constable.  I  say — 
where  did  you  leave  Mehetabel  ?  *' 

"  My  sister  told  you — under  the  tree." 

"  What — not  in  the  water  ?  " 

*'  She  may  have  fallen  in.  I  had  but  one  arm,  and 
that  hurting  terrible." 

**  Good  heavens  !  "exclaimed  Iver.  "  You  came  home 
whining  over  your  arm — leaving  her  in  the  marsh  !  " 

**  You  don't  suppose  I  threw  her  in  ?  "  sneered  Jonas. 
"  Me — bad  of  an  arm." 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think,"  retorted  Iver.  "  But 
I  will  know  where  Mehetabel  is." 

In  the  doorway,  with  her  back  to  the  moonlight, 
stood  a  female  figure. 

The  first  to  see  it  was  Jonas,  and  he  uttered  a  gasp 
— he  thought  he  saw  a  spirit. 

The  figure  entered,  without  a  word,  and  all  saw  that 
it  was  Mehetabel. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  169 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A  SECRET. 

It  was  indeed  Mehetabel. 

She  entered  quietly,  without  a  word,  carrying  Bide- 
about's  gun,  which  she  placed  in  the  corner,  by  the 
fireplace. 

Jonas  and  his  sister  looked  at  her,  at  first  terror- 
struck,  as  though  they  beheld  a  ghost,  then  with  un- 
rest, for  they  knew  not  what  she  would  say. 

She  said  nothing. 

She  was  deadly  pale,  and  Iver,  looking  at  her,  was 
reminded  of  the  Mehetabel  he  had  seen  in  his  dream. 

At  once  she  recognized  that  her  husband's  arm  was 
being  dressed,  and  leisurely,  composedly,  she  came 
forward  to  hold  the  basin  of  water,  and  do  whatever 
was  required  of  her  by  the  surgeon. 

The  first  to  speak  was  Iver,  who  said,  *'  Matabel ! 
We  have  just  been  told  you  had  fallen  into  the  water." 

"  Yes.     My  dress  is  soaked." 

**  And  you  managed  to  get  out?  " 

*'  Yes,  when  I  fell  I  had  hold  of  my  husband's  gun — 
and  that  was  caught  in  a  bush  ;  it  held  me  up." 

"  But — how  came  you  to  fall  ?  " 

*'  I  believe  I  was  unconscious — perhaps  a  faint." 

Nothing  further  could  be  elicited  from  her,  then  or 
later.  Had  she  any  suspicion  that  she  had  been  struck 
down  ?  This  was  a  question  that,  later,  Jonas  asked 
himself.  But  he  never  knew  till, — but  we  must  not 
anticipate. 

A  day  or  two  after  that  eventful  night  he  made  some 
allusion  to  a  blow  on  her  head,  when  she  appeared  with 
a  bandage  round  it.       . 

"Yes,"  she  said  :  ''I  fell,  and  hurt  myself." 

For  some  days  Bide.abput  was  in  much  pain  and  dis- 


I70  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

comfort.  His  left  shoulder  had  been  injured  by  the 
ball  that  had  lodged  in  it,  and  it  was  probable  that  he 
would  always  be  stiff  in  that  arm,  and  be  unable  to 
raise  it  above  the  breast.     He  was  irritable  and  morose. 

He  watched  Mehetabel  suspiciously  and  with  mis- 
trust of  her  intentions.  What  did  she  know?  What 
did  she  surmise  ?  If  she  thought  that  he  had  attempted 
to  put  an  end  to  her  life,  would  she  retaliate?  In  his 
suspicion  he  preferred  to  have  his  sister  attend  to  him, 
and  Sarah  consented  to  do  for  him,  in  his  sickness, 
what  he  required,  not  out  of  fraternal  affection,  but  as 
a  means  of  slighting  the  young  wife,  and  of  observing 
the  relations  that  subsisted  between  her  and  Jonas. 

Sarah  Rocliffe  was  much  puzzled  by  what  had  taken 
place.  Her  brother's  manner  had  roused  her  alarm. 
She  knew  that  he  had  gone  forth  with  his  jealousy 
lashed  to  fury.  She  had  herself  kindled  the  fire. 
Then  he  had  come  upon  Mehetabel  and  Iver  on  the 
Moor,  she  could  not  doubt.  How  otherwise  explain 
the  knowledge  of  the  accident  which  led  Iver  to  bring 
the  surgeon  to  the  assistance  of  her  brother  ? 

But  the  manner  in  which  the  accident  had  occurred 
and  the  occasion  of  it,  all  of  this  was  dark  to  her. 
Then  the  arrival  of  Jonas  alone,  and  his  reticence 
relative  to  his  wife,  till  she  had  asked  about  her  ;  also 
his  extraordinary  statement,  his  manifest  terror ;  and 
the  silence  of  Mehetabel  on  her  reappearance,  all  this 
proved  a  mystery  involving  the  events  of  the  night, 
that  Sarah  Rocliffe  was  desirous  to  unravel. 

She  found  that  her  every  effort  met  with  a  rebuff 
from  Jonas,  and  elicited  nothing  from  Mehetabel,  who 
left  her  in  the  same  uncertainty  as  was  Bideabout, 
whether  she  knew  anything,  or  suspected  anything 
beyond  the  fact  that  she  had  fallen  insensible  into  the 
water.  She  had  fallen  grasping  the  gun,  which  had  be- 
corhe  entangled  in  some  bushes,  and  this  together  with 
the  water  weeds  had  sustained  her.  When  she  re- 
covered consciousness  she  had  drawn  herself  out  of  the 
marsh  by  means  of  the  gun^  and  had  seated  herself 
under  an  old  pine  tree,  till  her  senses  were  sufficiently 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  171 

clear.  Thereupon  she  had  made  the  best  of  her  way 
homeward. 

What  did  she  think  of  Jonas  for  having  left  her  in 
the  water  ?  asked  Mrs.  RoclifTe. 

Mehetabel  answered,  simply,  that  she  had  not  thought 
about  it.  Wet,  cold,  and  faint,  she  had  possessed  no 
idea  save  how  to  reach  home. 

There  was  much  talk  in  the  Punch-Bowl  as  well  as 
throughout  the  neighborhood  relative  to  what  had 
taken  place,  and  many  forms  were  assumed  by  the 
rumor  as  it  circulated.  Most  men  understood  well 
enough  that  Jonas  had  gone  after  the  Peperharow  deer, 
and  was  attempting  to  forestall  others — therefore, 
serve  him  right,  was  their  judgment,  however  he  came 
by  his  accident. 

Iver  left  Thursley  on  the  day  following  and  returned 
to  Guildford.  The  surgeon  staying  at  the  Ship  Inn 
continued  his  visits  to  the  Punch-Bowl,  as  long  as  he 
was  there,  and  then  handed  his  patient  over  to  the 
local  practitioner. 

Mrs.  Verstage  was  little  better  informed  than  the 
rest  of  the  inhabitants  of  Thursley,  for  her  son  had  not 
told  her  anything  about  the  accident  to  Jonas,  more 
than  was  absolutely  necessary  ;  and  to  all  her  inquiries 
returned  a  laughing  answer  that  as  he  had  not  shot  the 
Broom-Squire  he  could  not  inform  her  how  the  thing 
was  done. 

She  was  too  much  engaged  so  long  as  the  visitors 
were  in  the  house,  to  be  able  to  leave  it ;  and  Mehet- 
abel did  not  come  near  her. 

As  soon,  however,  as  she  was  more  free,  she  started 
in  her  little  trap  for  the  Punch-Bowl,  and  arrived  at  a 
time  when  Jonas  was  not  at  home. 

This  exactly  suited  her.  She  had  Mehetabel  to  her- 
self, and  could  ask  her  any  questions  she  liked  without 
restraint. 

"  My  dear  Matabel,"  she  said,  *^  I've  had  a  trying 
time  of  it,  with  the  house  full,  and  only  Polly  to  look 
to  for  everything.  Will  you  believe  me — on  Sunday  I 
gaid  I  would  give  the  gentlemen  a  little  plum-pudding. 


172  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

I  mixed  it  myself,  and  told  Polly  to  boil  it,  whilst  I 
went  to  church.  Of  course,  I  supposed  she  would  do 
it  properly,  but  with  those  kind  of  people  one  must  take 
nothing  for  granted." 

**  Did  she  spoil  the  pudding,  mother  ?  " 

'*  Oh,  no — the  pudding  was  all  right." 

**  Then  what  harm  was  done  ?  " 

"  She  spoiled  my  best  nightcap." 

"  How  so?" 

**  Boiled  the  puddin'  in  it,  because  she  couldn't  find 
a  bag.  I'll  never  get  it  proper  white  again,  nor  the 
frills  starched  and  made  up.  And  there  is  the  canary 
bird,  too." 

"  What  of  that,  mother  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  I  told  Polly  to  clean  out  the  cage." 

"  And  did  she  not  do  it  ?  " 

*'  Oh,  yes — only  too  well.  She  dipped  it  in  a  pan  of 
hot  water  and  soda — and  the  bird  in  it." 

"  What — the  canary — is  it  dead  ?  " 

**  Of  course  it  is,  and  bleached  white  too.  That  girl 
makes  the  water  so  thick  wi'  soda  you  could  stand  a 
spoon  up  in  it.     She  used  five  pounds  in  two  days." 

*'  Oh,  the  poor  canary  !  "  Mehetabel  was  greatly 
troubled  for  her  pet. 

*'  I  don't  quite  understand  the  ways  o'  Providence," 
said  Mrs.  Verstage.  ''  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  till  the 
veil  be  lifted.  I  understand  right  enough  why  oysters 
ain't  given  eyes — lest  they  should  see  those  who  are 
opening  their  mouths  to  eat  'em.  And  if  geese  were 
given  wings  like  swallows,  they  wouldn't  bide  with  us 
over  Michaelmas.  But  why  Providence  should  ha' 
denied  domestic  servants  the  gift  of  intelligence  where- 
with we,  their  masters  and  mistresses,  be  so  largely 
endowed — that  beats  me.  Well,"  in  a  tone  of  resigna- 
tion, ''  one  will  know  that  some  day,  doubtless." 

After  a  bit  of  conversation  about  the  progress  of 
Jonas  to  convalescence,  and  the  chance  of  his  being 
able  to  use  his  arm,  Mrs.  Verstage  approached  the 
topic  uppermost  in  her  mind. 

"I  should  like  to  hear  all  about  it,   from  your  own 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  173 

mouth,  Matabel.  There  is  such  a  number  of  wonder- 
ful tales  going  round,  all  contradictory,  and  so,  of 
course,  all  can't  be  true.  Some  even  tell  that  you  fired 
the  gun  and  wounded  Jonas.  But  that  is  ridiculous,  as 
I  said  to  Maria  Entiknap.  And  actually  one  story  is 
that  my  Iver  was  in  it  somehow.  Of  course,  I  knew 
he  heard  there  was  an  accident.  You  told  him  when 
you  was  fetched  away.  Who  fetched  you  from  the 
Ship?     I  left  you  in  the  kitchen." 

'*  Oh,  mother,"  said  Mehetabel,  '*  all  the  events  of 
that  terrible  night  are  confused  in  my  head,  and  I  don't 
know  where  to  begin — nor  what  is  true  and  what  fancy, 
so  I'd  as  lief  say  nothing  about  it." 

"If   you    can't  trust  me "  said  Mrs.  Verstage, 

somewhat  offended. 

''  I  could  trust  you  with  anything,"  answered  Mehet- 
abel hastily.  "  Indeed,  it  is  not  that,  but  somehow  I 
fell,  and  I  suppose  with  fright,  and  a  blow  I  got  in 
falling,  every  event  got  so  mixed  with  fancies  and  follies 
that  I  don't  know  where  truth  begins  and  fancy  ends. 
For  that  reason  I  do  not  wish  to  speak." 

"  Now  look  here,"  said  Mrs.  Verstage,  "  I've  brought 
you  a  present  such  as  I  wouldn't  give  to  any  one.  It's 
a  cookery  book,  as  was  given  me.  See  what  I  have 
wrote,  or  got  Simon  to  write  for  me,  on  the  fly-leaf. 

"  *  Susanna  Verstage,  her  book, 
Give  me  grace  therein  to  look. 
Not  only  to  look,  but  to  understand, 
For  learning  is  better  than  houses  and  land. 
When  land  is  gone,  and  money  is  spent. 
Then  learning  is  most  excellent.' 

And  the  reason  why  I  part  with  this  Matabel,  is 
because  of  that  little  conversation  we  had  together  the 
other  day  at  the  Ship.  I  don't  beHeve  as  how  you  and 
Bideabout  get  along  together  first  rate.  Now  I  know 
men,  their  ins  and  outs,  pretty  completely,  and  I  know 
that  the  royal  road  to  their  affections  is  through  their 
stomachs.  You  use  thfs  book  of  receipts,  they're  not 
extravagant  ones,  but  they  are  all  good,  and  in  six 
months  Jonas  will  just  about  worship  you."  ^  * 


174  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

"  Mother,"  said  Mehetabel,  after  thanking  her,  "  you 
are  very  kind." 

"  Not  at  all.  Fve  had  experience  in  husbands,  and 
you're,  so  to  speak,  raw  to  it.  They  are  humorous 
persons,  are  men,  you  have  to  give  in  a  little  here  and 
take  a  good  slice  there.  If  you  give  up  to  them  there's 
an  end  to  all  peace  and  quietness.  If  you  don't  give 
in  enough  the  result  is  the  same.  What  all  men  want 
is  to  make  their  wives  their  slaves.  You  know,  I 
suppose,  how  Gilly  Cheel,  the  younger,  got  his  name  of 
Jamaica  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  I  do." 

"Why  he  and  his  Bessy  are  always  quarrelling. 
Neither  will  yield  to  the  other.  At  last,  by  some  means, 
Gilly  got  wind  that  in  West  Indies,  there  are  slaves, 
and  he  thought,  if  he  could  only  get  out  there  with 
Bess  that  he'd  be  able  to  enslave  her  and  make  her  do 
what  he  wished.  So  he  pretended  that  he'd  got  a 
little  money  left  him  in  Jamaica,  and  must  needs  go 
out  there  and  settle.  She  said  she  wouldn't  go,  and 
he  had  no  call  to  go  there,  except  just  for  the  sake  of 
getting  her  under  control.  Then  he  talked  big  of  the 
beautiful  climate,  and  all  the  cooking  done  by  the  sun, 
and  no  washing  needed,  because  clothing  are  unneces- 
sary, and  not  only  no  washing,  but  no  mending  neither, 
no  stockings  to  knit,  no  buttons  to  put  on — a  Paradise 
for  wimen,  said  Gilly — but  still  he  couldn't  get  Bessy 
to  hear  of  going  out  to  the  West  Indies.  At  last,  how 
it  was,  I  can't  say,  but  she  got  wind  of  the  institootion 
of  slavery  there,  and  then  she  guessed  at  once  what 
was  working  in  Gilly's  mind.  Since  that  day  he's 
always  gone  by  the  name  of  Jamaica,  and  fellows  that 
want  to  tease  him  shout,  **  Taken  your  passage  yet  for 
you  and  Bessy  to  Jamaica?" 

"  My  dear  mother,"  said  Mehetabel,  "  I  should  not 
mind  being  a  slave  in  my  husband's  house,  and  to  him, 
if  there  were  love  to  beautify  and  sanctify  it.  But  it 
would  not  be  slavery  then,  and  now  I  am  afraid  that 
you,  mother,  have  perhaps  took  it  unkind  that  I  did 
not  tell  you  more  about  that  shot.     If  so,  let  me  make 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  175 

all  good  again  between  us  by  telling  you  a  real  secret. 
There's  no  one  else  knows  it." 

"  What  is  that  ?  *'  asked  the. hostess  eagerly. 

Mehetabel  was  nervous  and  colored. 

"  May  I  tell  you  in  your  ear  ?  " 

Mrs.  Verstage  extended  an  ear  to  her,  she  would 
have  applied  both  to  Mehetabel's  mouth  had  that  been 
feasible. 

The  young  wife,  with  diffidence,  whispered  some- 
thing. 

A  beam  of  satisfaction  lit  up  the  old  woman's  face. 

"  That's  famous.  That's  just  as  it  ort.  With  that 
and  with  the  cookery  book,  Jonas'll  just  adore  you. 
There's  nuthin*  like  that  for  makin'  a  home  homely." 

"  And  you'll  come  to  me  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  if  alive  and  well,  without  fail." 


176  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  XXVll. 
POISON. 

The  Broom-Squire  did  not  recover  from  his  wound 
with  the  rapidity  that  might  have  been  expected.  His 
blood  was  fevered,  his  head  in  a  whirl.  He  could 
not  forget  what  his  sister  had  said  to  him  relative  to 
Mehetabel  and  Iver.  Jealousy  gnawed  in  his  heart 
like  a  worm.  That  the  painter  should  admire  her  for 
her  beauty — that  was  nothing — who  did  not  admire 
her?  Had  she  not  been  an  object  of  wonder  and 
praise  ever  since  she  had  bloomed  into  womanhood  at 
the  Ship  ?  That  he  was  envied  his  beautiful  wife  did 
not  surprise  him.  He  valued  her  because  begrudged 
him  by  others. 

He  looked  at  himself  in  a  broken  glass  he  had,  and 
sneered  and  laughed  when  he  saw  his  own  haggard  face, 
and  contrasted  it  with  that  of  the  artist.  It  was  true 
that  he  had  seen  nothing  to  render  him  suspicious,  when 
Iver  came  to  his  house,  but  he  had  not  always  been 
present.  He  had  actually  forced  his  wife  against  her 
wishes  to  go  to  the  tavern  where  Iver  was,  had  thrust 
her,  so  to  speak,  into  his  arms. 

He  remembered  her  call  in  the  Marsh  to  the  spirits 
to  rid  her  of  some  one,  and  he  could  not  believe  her  ex- 
planation. He  remembered  how  that  to  save  Iver,  she 
had  thrust  the  muzzle  of  the  gun  against  her  own  side, 
and  had  done  battle  with  him  for  mastery  over  the 
weapon.  Incapable  of  conceiving  of  honor,  right  feel- 
ing, in  any  breast,  he  attributed  the  worst  motives  to 
Mehetabel — he  held  her  to  be  sly,  treacherous,  and  false. 

Jonas  had  never  suffered  from  any  illness,  and  he 
made  a  bad  patient  now.  He  was  irritable,  and  he 
spared  neither  his  wife,  who  attended  to  him  with  self- 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  177 

denying  patience,  nor  his  sister,  who  came  in  occasion- 
ally. Mehetabel  hoped  that  his  pain  and  dependence 
on  her  might  soften  his  rancorous  spirit,  and  break 
down  his  antagonism  towards  her  and  every  one.  The 
longer  his  recovery  was  delayed,  the  more  unrestrained 
became  his  temper.  He  spared  no  one.  It  seemed  as 
though  his  wife's  patience  and  attention  provoked  into 
virulent  activity  all  that  was  most  venomous  and  vicious 
in  his  nature.  Possibly  he  was  aware  that  he  was  un- 
worthy of  her,  but  could  not  or  would  not  admit  this 
to  himself.  His  hatred  of  Iver  grew  to  frenzy.  He 
felt  that  he  was  morally  the  inferior  of  both  the  artist 
and  of  his  own  wife.  When  he  was  at  their  mercy  they 
had  spared  his  life,  and  that  life  of  his  lay  between 
them  and  happiness.  Had  he  not  sought  both  theirs  ? 
Would  he  have  scrupled  to  kill  either  had  one  of  them 
been  in  the  same  helpless  position  at  his  feet  ? 

He  had  come  forth  in  sorry  plight  from  that  strug- 
gle, and  now  he  was  weakened  by  his  accident,  and 
unable  to  watch  Mehetabel  as  fully  as  he  would  have 
wished. 

The  caution  spoken  by  the  surgeon  that  he  should 
not  retard  his  recovery  by  impatience  and  restlessness 
was  unheeded. 

He  was  wakeful  at  night,  tossing  on  his  bed  from 
side  to  side.  He  complained  of  this  to  the  surgeon, 
who,  on  his  next  visit,  brought  him  a  bottle  of  laudanum. 

*'  Now  look  here,"  said  he  ;  "I  will  not  put  this  in 
your  hands.  You  are  too  hasty  and  unreHable  to  be  en- 
trusted with  it.  Your  wife  shall  have  it.  It  is  useful, 
if  taken  in  small  quantities,  just  a  drop  or  two,  but  if 
too  much  be  taken  by  accident,  then  you  will  fall  into 
a  sleep  from  which  there  is  no  awaking.  I  can  quite 
fancy  that  you  in  your  irritable  mood,  because  you 
could  not  sleep,  would  give  yourself  an  overdose,  and 
then — there  would  be  the  deuce  to  pay." 

"  And  suppose  that  my  wife  were  to  overdose  me  ?  " 
asked  the  sick  man  suspiciously. 

"  That  is  not  a  suspicion  I  can  entertain,"  said  the 
surgeon,  with  a  bow  of  his  head  in  the  direction  of 
12 


1 78  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

Mehetabel.  "  I  have  found  her  thoughtful,  exact,  and 
trustworthy.  And  so  you  have  found  her,  I  will  swear, 
Mr.  Kink,  in  all  your  domestic  life  ?  " 

The  Broom-Squire  muttered  something  unintelligible, 
and  turned  away. 

When  the  laudanum  arrived,  he  took  the  bottle  and 
examined  it.  A  death's  head  and  crossbones  were  on 
the  label.  He  took  out  the  cork,  and  smelt  the  con- 
tents of  the  phial. 

Though  worn  out  with  want  of  sleep  he  refused  to 
touch  any  of  the  sedative.  He  was  afraid  to  trust 
Mehetabel  with  the  bottle,  and  afraid  to  mix  his  own 
portion  lest  in  his  nervous  excitement  he  might  overdo 
the  dose. 

Neither  would  he  suffer  the  laudanum  to  be  admin- 
istered to  him  by  his  sister.  As  he  said  to  her  with  a 
sneer,  "  A  drop  too  much  would  give  you  a  chance  of 
my  farm,  which  you  won't  have  so  long  as  I  live." 

"  How  can  you  talk  like  that  ?  "  said  Sally.  '*  Haven't 
you  got  a  wife  ?     Wouldn't  the  land  go  to  her  ?  " 

The  land,  the  house — to  Mehetabel,  and  with  his  re- 
moval, then  the  way  would  be  opened  for  Iver  as  well. 

The  thought  was  too  much  for  Jonas.  He  left  his 
bed,  and  carried  the  phial  of  opium  to  a  little  cupboard 
he  had  in  the  wall,  that  he  kept  constantly  locked. 
This  he  now  opened,  and  within  it  he  placed  the  bottle. 
"  Better  endure  my  sleepless  nights  than  be  rocked  to 
sleep  by  those  who  have  no  wish  to  bid  me  a  good- 
morrow." 

Seeing  that  Mehetabel  observed  him  he  said,  "  The 
key  I  never  let  from  my  hands." 

He  would  not  empty  the  phial  out  of  the  window, 
because — he  thought  on  the  next  visit  of  the  surgeon 
he  might  get  him  to  administer  the  dose  himself,  and 
he  would  have  to  pay  for  the  laudanum,  consequently 
to  waste  it  would  be  to  throw  away  two  shillings. 

It  chanced  one  day,  when  the  Broom-Squire  was 
somewhat  better,  and  had  begun  to  go  about,  that  old 
Clutch  was  taken  ill.  The  venerable  horse  was  off  his 
feed,  and  breathed  heavily.  He  stood  with  head  down, 
looking  sulky. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  179 

Bideabout  was  uneasy.  He  was  attached  to  the 
horse,  even  though  he  beat  it  without  mercy.  Perhaps 
this  attachment  was  mainly  selfish.  He  knew  that  if 
old  Clutch  died  he  would  have  to  replace  him,  and  the 
purchase  of  a  horse  would  be  a  serious  expense.  Ac- 
cordingly he  did  all  in  his  power  to  recover  his  steed, 
short  of  sending  for  a  veterinary  surgeon.  He  hastened 
to  his  cupboard  in  the  upper  chamber,  and  unlocked  it, 
to  find  a  draught  that  he  might  administer.  When  he 
had  got  the  bottle,  in  his  haste,  being  one-handed,  he 
forgot  to  re-lock  and  remove  the  key.  Possibly  he  did 
not  observe  that  his  wife  was  seated  in  the  window, 
engaged  in  needlework.  Indeed,  for  some  time  she  had 
been  very  busily  engaged  in  the  making  of  certain 
garments,  not  intended  for  herself  nor  for  her  husband. 
She  worked  at  these  in  the  upper  chamber,  where  there 
was  more  light  than  below  in  the  kitchen,  where,  owing 
to  the  shade  of  the  trees,  the  room  was  somewhat  dark, 
and  where,  moreover,  she  was  open  to  interruption. 

When  Bideabout  left  the  room,  Mehetabel  looked 
up,  and  saw  that  he  had  not  fastened  the  cupboard. 
The  door  swung  open,  and  exposed  the  contents.  She 
rose,  laid  the  linen  she  was  hemming  on  the  chair,  and 
went  to  the  open  press,  not  out  of  inquisitiveness,  but 
in  order  to  fasten  the  door. 

She  stood  before  the  place  where  he  kept  his  articles 
of  value,  and  mustered  them,  without  much  interest. 
There  were  bottles  of  drenches  for  cattle,  and  pots  of 
ointment  for  rubbing  on  sprains,  and  some  account 
books.     That  was  all. 

But  among  the  bottles  was  one  that  was  small,  of 
dark  color,  with  an  orange  label  on  it  marked  with  a 
boldly  drawn  skull  and  crossbones,  and  the  letters 
printed  on  it,  '*  Poison." 

This  was  the  phial  containing  the  medicine,  the  name 
of  which  she  could  not  recall,  that  the  doctor  had  given 
to  her  husband  to  take  in  the  event  of  his  sleeplessness 
continuing  to  trouble  him.  The  word  "  poison  "  was 
frightening,  and  the  death's  head  still  more  so.  But 
she  recalled  what  the  surgeon  had  said,  that  the  result 
of  taking  a  small  dose  would  be  to  encourage  sleep, 


i8o  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

and  of  an  overdose  to  send  into  a  sleep  from  which 
there  would  be  no  awaking. 

Mehetabel  could  hardly  repress  a  smile,  though  it 
was  a  sad  one,  as  she  thought  of  her  husband's  suspi- 
cions lest  she  should  misuse  the  draught  on  him.  But 
her  bosom  heaved,  and  her  heart  beat  as  she  continued 
to  look  at  it. 

She  needed  but  to  extend  her  hand  and  she  had  the 
means  whereby  all  her  sorrows  and  aches  of  heart  would 
be  brought  to  an  end.  It  was  not  as  if  there  were  any 
prospect  before  her  of  better  times.  If  sickness  had 
failed  to  soften  and  sweeten  the  temper  of  the  Broom- 
Squire,  then  nothing  would  do  it.  Before  her  lay  a 
hideous  future  of  self-abnegation,  or  daily,  hourly  misery, 
under  his  ill-nature  ;  of  continuous  torture  caused  by 
his  cruel  tongue.  And  her  heart  was  not  whole.  She 
still  thought  of  Iver,  recalled  his  words,  his  look,  the 
clasp  of  his  arm,  his  kiss  on  her  lips. 

Would  the  time  ever  arrive  when  she  could  think  of 
him  without  her  pulse  bounding,  and  a  film  forming 
over  her  eyes  ? 

Would  it  not  be  well  to  end  this  now?  She  had  but 
to  sip  a  few  drops  from  this  bottle  and  then  lay  her 
weary  head,  and  still  more  weary  heart,  on  the  bed,  and 
sleep  away  into  the  vast  oblivion  ! 

She  uncorked  the  bottle  and  smelt  the  laudanum. 
The  odor  was  peculiar,  it  was  unlike  any  other  with 
which  she  was  acquainted.  She  even  touched  the  cork 
with  her  tongue.     The  taste  was  not  unpleasant. 

Not  a  single  drop  had  been  taken  from  the  phial.  It 
was  precisely  in  the  condition  in  which  it  had  arrived. 

If  she  did  not  yield  to  the  temptation,  what  was  it 
that  stayed  her?  Not  the  knowledge  that  the  country 
of  the  Gergesenes  lay  southeast  of  the  Lake  of  Tiberias, 
otherwise  called  the  Sea  of  Galilee ;  nor  that  the 
"  lily  of  the  field  *'  was  the  Scarlet  Martagon  ;  nor  that 
the  latitude  and  longitude  of  Jerusalem  were  ^i°4/ by 
53^15',  all  which  facts  had  been  acquired  by  her  in  the 
Sunday-school ;  but  that  which  arrested  her  hand  and 
made  her  replace  the  cork  and  bottle  was  the  sight  of 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  i8i 

a  little  white  garment  lying  on  the  chair  from  which 
she  had  risen. 

Just  then  she  heard  her  husband's  voice,  and  startled 
and  confused  by  what  had  passed  through  her  mind, 
she  locked  the  cupboard,  and  without  consideration 
slipped  the  key  into  her  pocket.  Then  gathering  up 
the  little  garment  she  went  into  another  room. 

Bideabout  did  not  miss  the  key,  or  remember  that 
he  had  not  locked  up  the  cupboard,  for  three  days. 
The  bottle  with  drench  he  had  retained  in  the  stable. 

When  the  old  horse  recovered,  or  showed  signs  of 
convalescence,  then  Bideabout  took  the  bottle,  went 
to  his  room,  and  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket  for  the 
key  that  he  might  open  the  closet  and  replace  the  drench. 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  did  he  discover  his  loss. 
He  made  no  great  disturbance  about  it  when  he  found 
out  that  the  key  was  gone,  as  he  took  for  granted  that 
it  had  slipped  from  his  pocket  in  the  stable,  or  on  his 
way  through  the  yard  to  it.  In  fact,  he  discovered 
that  there  was  a  hole  in  his  pocket,  through  which  it 
might  easily  have  worked  its  way. 

As  he  was  unable  to  find  any  other  key  that  would 
fit  the  lock,  he  set  to  work  to  file  an  odd  key  down  and 
adapt  it  to  his  purpose.  Living  as  did  the  squatters, 
away  from  a  town,  or  even  a  large  village,  they  had 
learned  to  be  independent  of  tradesmen,  and  to  do 
most  things  for  themselves. 

Nor  did  Mehetabel  discover  that  she  was  in  posses- 
sion of  the  key  till  after  her  husband  had  made  another 
that  would  fit.  She  had  entirely  forgotten  having 
pocketed  the  original  key.  Indeed  she  never  was  con- 
scious that  she  had  done  it.  It  was  only  when  she 
saw  him  unlock  the  closet  to  put  away  the  bottle  of 
horse  medicine  that  she  asked  herself  what  had  been 
done  with  the  key.  Then  she  hastily  put  her  hand 
into  her  pocket  and  found  it. 

As  Jonas  had  another,  she  did  not  think  it  necessary 
for  her  to  produce  the  original  and  call  down  thereby 
on  herself  a  torrent  of  abuse. 

She  retained  it,  and  thus  access  to  the  poison  was 
possible  to  those  two  individuals  under  one  roof. 


i8j  the  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
A  THREAT. 

One  Sunday,  the  first  snow  had  fallen  in  large  flakes, 
and  as  there  had  been  no  wind  it  had  covered  all  things 
pretty  evenly — it  had  laden  the  trees,  many  of  which 
had  not  as  yet  shed  their  leaves.  Mehetabel  had  not 
gone  to  church  because  of  this  snow ;  and  Jonas  had 
been  detained  at  home  for  the  same  reason,  though 
not  from  church.  If  he  had  gone  anywhere  it  would 
have  been  to  look  for  holly  trees  full  of  berries  which 
he  might  cut  for  the  Christmas  sale  of  evergreens. 

Towards  noon  the  sun  suddenly  broke  out  and  re- 
vealed a  world  of  marvellous  beauty.  Every  bush  and 
tree  twinkled,  and  as  the  rays  melted  the  snow  the 
boughs  stooped  and  shed  their  burdens  in  shining 
avalanches. 

Blackbirds  were  hopping  in  the  snow,  and  the  track 
of  hares  was  distinguishable  everywhere. 

As  the  sun  burst  in  at  the  little  window  it  illumined 
the  beautiful  face  of  Mehetabel  and  showed  the  deli- 
cate rose  in  her  cheeks,  and  shone  in  her  rich  dark 
hair,  bringing  out  a  chestnut  glow  not  usually  visible 
in  it. 

Jonas,  who  had  been  sitting  at  his  table  working  at 
his  accounts,  looked  up  and  saw  his  wife  at  the  window 
contemplating  the  beauty  of  the  scene.  She  had  her 
hands  clasped,  and  her  thoughts  seemed  to  be  far 
away,  though  her  eyes  rested  on  the  twinkling  white 
world  before  her. 

Jonas,  though  ill-natured  and  captious,  was  fond  of 
his  wife,  in  his  low,  animal  fashion,  and  had  a  coarse 
appreciation  of  her  beauty.  He  was  so  far  recovered 
from  his  accident  that  he  could  sleep  and  eat  heartily, 
and  his  blood  coursed  as  usual  through  his  veins. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE,  183 

The  very  jealousy  that  worked  in  him,  and  his 
hatred  of  Iver,  and  envy  of  his  advantages  of  youth, 
good  looks,  and  ease  of  manner,  made  him  eager  to 
assert  his  proprietorship  over  his  wife. 

He  stepped  up  to  her,  without  her  noticing  his  ap- 
proach, put  his  right  arm  round  her  waist  and  kissed 
her. 

She  started,  and  thrust  him  back.  She  was  far  away 
in  thought,  and  the  action  was  unintentional.  In  very 
truth  she  had  been  dreaming  of  Iver,  and  the  embrace 
chimed  in  with  her  dream,  and  the  action  of  shrinking 
and  repulsion  was  occasioned  by  the  recoil  of  her  moral 
nature  from  any  undue  familiarity  attempted  by  Iver. 

But  the  Broom-Squire  entirely  misconceived  her 
action.  With  quivering  voice  and  flashing  eyes,  he 
said — 

"  Oh,  if  this  had  been  Iver,  the  daub-paint,  you 
would  not  have  pushed  me  away. 

Her  eyebrows  contracted,  and  a  slight  start  did  not 
pass  unnoticed. 

**  I  know  very  well,"  he  said,  "  of  whom  you  were 
thinking.  Deny  it  if  you  can  ?  Your  mind  was  with 
Iver  Verstage." 

She  was  silent.  The  blood  rushed  foaming  through 
her  head  ;  but  she  looked  Bideabout  steadily  in  the 
face. 

*'  It  is  guilt  which  keeps  you  silent,"  he  said,  bitterly. 

"  If  you  are  so  sure  that  I  thought  of  him,  why  did 
you  ask?  "  she  replied,  and  now  the  color  faded  out  of 
her  face. 

Jonas  laughed  mockingly. 

"  It  serves  me  right,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  resentment 
against  himself.  "  I  always  knew  what  women  were  ; 
that  they  were  treacherous  and  untrue  ;  and  the  worst 
of  all  are  those  who  think  themselves  handsome ;  and 
the  most  false  and  vicious  of  all  are  such  as  have  been 
reared  in  public-houses,  the  toast  of  drunken  sots." 

*'  Why,  then,  did  you  take  me  ?  " 

"  Because  I  was  a  fool.  Every  man  commits  a  folly 
once  in  his  life.     Even  Solomon,  the  wisest  of  men, 


iS4  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

committed  that  folly ;  aye,  and  many  a  time,  too,  for 
of  wives  he  had  plenty.  But  then  he  was  a  king,  and 
folly  such  as  that  mattered  not  to  him.  He  could  cut 
off  the  head  of,  or  shoot  down  any  man  who  even 
looked  at  or  spoke  a  word  to  any  of  his  wives.  And 
if  one  of  these  were  untrue  to  him,  he  would  put  her 
in  a  sack  and  sink  her  in  the  Dead  Sea,  and — served 
her  right.  To  think  that  I — that  I — the  shrewd 
Broom-Squire,  should  have  been  so  bewitched  and 
bedeviled  as  to  be  led  into  the  bog  of  marriage !  Now 
I  suffer  for  it."  He  turned  savagely  on  his  wife,  and 
said :  "  Have  you  forgotten  that  you  vowed  fidelity 
to  me  ?  " 

"  And  you — did  you  not  swear  to  show  me  love?  " 

He  broke  into  a  harsh  laugh. 

"  Love !  That  is  purely  !  And  just  now,  when  I 
attempted  to  snatch  a  kiss,  you  struck  me  and  thrust 
me  off,  because  I  was  Jonas  Kink,  and  not  the  lover 
you  looked  for  ?  " 

"  Jonas  !  "  said  Mehetabel,  and  a  flame  of  indigna- 
tion started  into  her  cheek,  and  burnt  there  on  each 
cheek-bone.  "  Jonas,  you  are  unjust.  I  swore  to  love 
you,  and  Heaven  can  answer  for  me  that  I  have  striven 
hard  to  force  the  love  to  come  where  it  does  not  exist 
naturally.  Can  you  sink  a  well  in  the  sand-hill,  and 
compel  the  water  to  bubble  up  ?  Can  you  drain  away 
the  moor  and  bid  it  blossom  like  a  garden  ?  I  cannot 
love  you — when  you  do  everything  to  make  me  shrink 
from  you.  You  esteem  nothing,  no  one,  that  is  good. 
You  sneer  at  everything  that  is  holy;  you  disbelieve  in 
everything  that  is  honest ;  you  value  not  the  true,  and 
you  have  no  respect  for  suffering.  I  do  not  deny  that 
I  have  no  love  for  you — that  there  is  much  in  you  that 
makes  me  draw  away — as  from  something  hideous. 
Why  do  not  you  try  on  your  part  to  seek  my  love? 
Instead  of  that,  you  take  an  ingenious  pleasure  in 
stamping  out  every  spark  of  affection,  in  driving  away 
every  atom  of  regard,  that  I  am  trying  so  hard  to  ac- 
quire for  you.  Is  all  the  strivin'  to  be  on  my  side  ? — 
all  the  thought  and  care  to  be  with  me  ?     A  very  little 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  185 

pains  on  your  part,  some  small  self-control,  and  we 
should  get  to  find  common  ground  on  which  we  could 
meet  and  be  happy.  As  to  Iver  Verstage,  both  he  and 
I  know  well  enough  that  we  can  never  belong  to  each 
other." 

"  Oh,  I  stand  between  you  ?  " 

"  Yes — you  and  my  duty.'* 

"  Much  you  value  either." 

**  I  know  my  duty  and  will  do  it.  Iver  Verstage  and 
I  can  never  belong  to  each  other.  We  know  it,  and  we 
have  parted  forever.  I  have  not  desired  to  be  untrue 
to  you  in  heart ;  but  I  did  not  know  what  was  possible 
and  what  impossible  in  this  poor,  unhappy  heart  of 
mine  when  I  promised  to  love  you.  I  did  not  know 
what  love  meant  at  the  time.  Mother  told  me  it  grew 
as  a  matter  of  course  in  married  life,  like  chickweed  in 
a  garden." 

*'  Am  I  gone  crazed,  or  have  you  ?  "  exclaimed  Bide- 
about,  snorting  with  passion.  "  You  have  parted  with 
Iver — quite  so — but  only  till  after  my  death,  which  you 
will  compass  between  you.  I  know  that  well  enough. 
It  was  because  I  knew  that,  that  I  would  not  suffer 
you  to  give  me  doses  of  laudanum.  A  couple  of  drops, 
where  one  would  suffice,  and  this  obstruction  to  your 
loves  was  removed.'* 

"  No,  never  !  "  exclaimed  Mehetabel,  with  flashing 
eye. 

"  You  women  are  like  the  glassy  pools  in  the  Moor. 
There  is  a  smooth  face,  and  fair  flowers  floating  thereon, 
and  underneath  the  toad  and  the  effet,  the  water-rat 
and  festering  poison.  I  shall  know  how  to  drive  out 
of  you  the  devil  that  possesses  you — this  spirit  of 
rebellion  and  passion  for  Iver  Verstage." 

''  You  may  do  that,"  said  Mehetabel,  recovering  her 
self-mastery,  "if  you  will  be  kind,  forbearing,  and 
gentle." 

"  It  is  not  with  kindness  and  gentleness  that  T  shall 
do  it,'*  scoffed  the  Broom-Squire.  ''  The  woman  that 
will  not  bend  must  be  broken;  It  is  not  I  who  will 
have  to  yield  in  this  house — I,  who  have  been  master 


1 86  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

here  these  twenty  years.  I  shall  know  how  to  bring 
you  to  your  senses." 

He  was  in  foaming  fury.  He  shook  his  fist,  and  his 
short  hair  bristled. 

Mehetabel  shrank  from  him  as  from  a  maniac. 

"You  have  no  need  to  threaten,"  she  said,  with  sad- 
ness in  her  tone.  **  I  am  prepared  for  anything.  Life 
is  not  so  precious  to  me  that  I  care  for  it." 

*'  Then  why  did  you  crawl  out  of  the  marsh  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  wide-open  eyes. 

**  Make  an  end  of  my  wretchedness  if  you  will.  Take 
a  knife,  and  drive  it  into  my  heart.  Go  to  your  closet, 
and  bring  me  that  poison  you  have  there,  and  pour  it 
between  my  lips.  Thrust  me,  if  you  will,  into  the 
Marsh.  It  is  all  one  to  me.  I  cannot  love  you  unless 
you  change  your  manners  of  thought  and  act  and 
speech  altogether." 

"  Bah  !  "  sneered  he,  '*  I  shall  not  kill  you.  But  I 
shall  make  you  understand  to  fear  me,  if  you  cannot 
love  me."  He  gripped  her  wrist.  "  Whether  alive  or 
dead,  there  will  be  no  escape  from  me.  I  will  follow 
you,  track  you  in  all  you  do,  and  if  I  go  underground 
shall  fasten  on  you,  in  spirit,  and  drag  you  underground 
as  well.  When  you  married  me  you  became  mine  for- 
ever." 

A  little  noise  made  both  turn. 

At  the  door  was  Sally  Rocliffe,  her  malevolent  face 
on  the  watch,  observing  all  that  passed. 

"  What  do  you  want  here  ? "  asked  the  Broom- 
Squire. 

"  Nuthin',  Jonas,  but  to  know  what  time  it  is.  Our 
clock  is  all  wrong  when  it  does  go,  and  now,  with  the 
cold  and  snow,  I  suppose,  it  has  stopped  altogether." 

Sally  looked  at  the  clock  that  stood  in  the  corner, 
Jonas  turned  sharply  on  his  heel,  took  his  hat,  and 
went  forth  into  the  backyard  of  his  farm. 

"  So,"  said  Mrs.  Rocliffe,  "  my  brother  is  in  fear  of 
his  life  of  you.  I  know  very  well  how  he  got  the  shot 
in  his  elbow.  It  was  not  your  fault  that  it  did  not 
lodge  in  his  head.     And   now  he  dare  not  take   his 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  187 

medicine  from  your  hands  lest  you  should  put  poison 
into  it.     That  comes  of  marrying  into  a  gallows  family." 

Then  slowly  she  walked  avv^y. 

Mehetabel  sank  into  the  window  seat. 

However  glorious  the  snow-clad,  sunlit  world  might 
be  without  it  was  nothing  to  her.  Within  her  was 
darkness  and  despair. 

She  looked  at  her  wrist,  marked  with  the  pressure  of 
her  husband's  fingers.  No  tears  quenched  the  fire  in 
her  eyes.  She  sat  and  gazed  stonily  before  her,  and 
thought  on  nothing.  It  was  as  though  her  heart  was 
frozen  and  buried  under  snow  ;  as  though  her  eyes 
looked  over  the  moor,  also  frozen  and  white,  but  with- 
out the  sun  flooding  it.  Above  hung  gray  and  threat- 
ening clouds. 

Thus  she  sat  for  many  minutes,  almost  without 
breathing,  almost  without  pulsation. 

Then  she  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  sob  in  her  throat, 
and  hastened  about  the  house  to  her  work.  There 
was,  as  it  were,  a  dark  sea  tumbling,  foaming,  clashing 
within  her,  and  horrible  thoughts  rose  up  out  of  this 
sea  and  looked  at  her  in  ghostly  fashion  and  filled  her 
with  terror.  Chief  among  these  was  the  thought  that 
the  death  of  Jonas  could  and  would  free  her  from  this 
hopeless  wretchedness.  Had  the  bullet  indeed  entered 
his  head  then  now  she  would  have  been  enduring  none 
of  this  insult,  none  of  these  indignities,  none  of  this 
daily  torture  springing  out  of  his  jealousy,  his  suspicion, 
and  his  resentfulness. 

And  at  the  same  time  appeared  the  vision  of  Iver 
Verstage.  She  could  measure  Jonas  by  him.  How 
infinitely  inferior  in  every  particular  was  Jonas  to  the 
young  painter,  the  friend  of  her  childhood. 

But  Mehetabel  knew  that  such  thoughts  could  but 
breed  mischief.  They  were  poison  germs  that  would 
infect  her  own  life,  and  make  her  not  only  infinitely 
wretched  but  degrade  her  in  her  own  eyes.  She  fought 
against  them.  She  beat  them  down  as  though  she 
were  battling  with  serpents  that  rose  up  out  of  the  dust 
to   lash   themselves  around  her  and  sting  her.     The 


1 88  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

look  at  them  had  an  almost  paralyzing  effect.  If  she 
did  not  use  great  effort  they  would  fascinate  her,  and 
draw  her  on  till  they  filled  her  whole  mind  and  lured 
her  from  thought  to  act. 

She  had  not  been  instructed  in  much  that  was  of 
spiritual  advantage  when  a  child  in  the  Sunday-school. 
The  Rector,  as  has  already  been  intimated,  had  been 
an  excellent  and  kindly  man,  who  desired  to  stand  well 
with  everybody,  and  who  was  always  taking  up  one 
nostrum  after  another  as  a  panacea  for  every  spiritual 
ill.  And  at  the  time  when  Matabel  was  under  instruc- 
tion the  nostrum  was  the  physical  geography  of  the 
Holy  Land.  The  only  thing  the  parson  did  not  teach 
was  a  definite  Christian  belief,  because  he  had  entered 
into  a  compromise  with  a  couple  of  Dissenting  farmers 
not  to  do  so,  and  to  confine  the  instruction  to  such 
matters  as  could  not  be  disputed.  Moreover,  he  was, 
himself,  mentally  averse  to  everything  that  savored  of 
dogma  in  religion.  He  would  not  give  his  parishioners 
the  Bread  of  Life,  but  would  supply  them  with  any 
amount  of  stones  geographically  tabulated  according 
to  their  strata. 

However,  Matabel  had  acquired  a  clear  sense  of  right 
and  wrong,  at  a  little  dame's  school  she  had  attended, 
as  also  from  Mrs.  Verstage  ;  and  now  this  definite 
knowledge  of  right  and  wrong  stood  her  in  good  stead. 
She  saw  that  the  harboring  of  such  thoughts  was  wrong, 
and  she  therefore  resolutely  resisted  them.  "  He 
said,"  she  sighed,  when  the  battle  was  over,  ''  that  he 
would  follow  me  through  life  and  death,  and  finally 
drag  me  underground.  But,  can  he  be  as  bad  as  his 
word  ?  " 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  169 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A  HERALD  OF  STRIFE. 

The  winter  passed  without  any  change  in  the  situa- 
tion. Iverdid  not  come  home  for  Christmas,  although 
he  heard  that  his  mother  was  faiUng  in  health  and 
strength.  There  was  much  amusement  in  Guildford, 
and  he  reasoned  that  it  would  be  advantageous  to  his 
business  to  take  part  in  all  the  entertainments,  and 
accept  every  invitation  made  him  to  the  house  of  a 
pupil.  Thursley  was  not  so  remote  but  that  he 
could  go  there  at  any  time.  He  was  establishing  him- 
self in  the  place,  and  must  strike  root  on  all  sides. 

This  was  a  disappointment  to  Mrs.  Verstage.  Re- 
luctantly she  admitted  that  her  health  was  breaking 
down,  and  that,  moreover,  whilst  Simon  remained 
tough  and  unshaken.  The  long-expected  and  hoped- 
for  time  when  Iver  should  become  a  permanent  in- 
mate of  the  house,  and  she  would  spend  her  declining 
years  in  love  and  admiration,  had  vanished  to  the 
region  of  hopes  impossible  of  fulfilment. 

Simon  Verstage  took  the  decline  of  his  wife*s  powers 
very  philosophically.  He  had  been  so  accustomed  to 
her  prognostications  of  evil,  and  harangues  on  her 
difficulties,  that  he  was  case-hardened,  and  did  not 
realize  that  there  was  actual  imminence  of  a  separation 
by  death. 

*'  It's  all  her  talk,*'  he  would  say  to  a  confidential 
friend  ;  ''  she's  eighteen  years  younger  nor  me,  and  so 
has  eighteen  to  live  after  I'm  gone.  There  ain't  been 
much  took  out  of  her :  she's  not  one  as  has  had  a  large 
family.  There  was  Iver,  no  more  ;  and  women  are 
longer-lived  than  men.  She  talks,  but  it's  all  along  of 
Polly  that  worrits  her.  Let  Polly  alone  and  she'll  get 
into  the  ways  of   the    house  in  time ;  but  Sanna  be 


I90  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

always  at  her  about  this  and  about  that,  and  it  kinder 
bewilders  the  wench,  and  she  don't  know  whether  to 
think  wi*  her  toes,  and  walk  wi'  her  head." 

In  the  Punch-Bowl  the  relations  that  subsisted  be- 
tween the  Broom-Squire  and  his  wife  were  not  more 
cordial  than  before.  They  lived  in  separate  worlds. 
He  was  greatly  occupied  with  his  solicitor  in  Godal- 
ming,  to  whom  he  was  constantly  driving  over.  He  saw 
little  of  Mehetabel,  save  at  his  meals,  and  then  con- 
versation was  limited  on  his  part  to  recrimination  and 
sarcastic  remarks  that  cut  as  a  razor.  She  made  no 
reply,  and  spoke  only  of  matters  necessary.  To  his 
abusive  remarks  she  had  no  answer,  a  deepening  color, 
a  clouding  eye  showed  that  she  felt  what  he  said.  And 
it  irritated  the  man  that  she  bore  his  insolence  meekly. 
He  would  have  preferred  that  she  should  have  retorted. 
As  it  was,  so  quiet  was  the  house  that  Sally  Rocliffe 
sneered  at  her  brother  for  living  in  it  with  Mehetabel, 
*'  just  like  two  turtle  doves, — never  heard  in  the  Punch- 
Bowl  of  such  a  tender  couple.  Since  that  little  visit 
to  the  Moor  j^ouVe  been  doin'  nothin'  but  billin*  and 
cooin'."  Then  she  burst  into  a  verse  of  an  old  folks' 
song,  singing  in  harsh  tones — 

"  A  woman  that  hath  a  bad  husband,  I  find 
By  scolding  won't  make  him  the  better. 
So  let  him  be  easy,  contented  in  mind, 

Nor  suffer  his  foibles  to  fret  her. 
Let  every  good  woman  her  husband  adore, 
Then  happy  her  lot,  though  't  be  humble  and  poor, 
We  live  like  two  turtles,  no  sorrows  we  know, 
And,  fair  girl !  mind  this  when  you  marry." 

"  What  happens,  in  my  house  is  no  concern  of  yours, 
Sally,"  Jonas  would  answer  sharply.  "  If  some  folk 
would  mind  their  own  affairs  they  wouldn't  be  all  to 
sixes  and  sevens.  You  look  out  that  you  don't  get 
into  trouble  yet  over  that  foolish  affair  of  Thomas  and 
the  Countess.  I  don't  fancy  you've  come  to  the  end 
of  that  yet." 

So  the  winter  passed,  and  spring  as  well,  and  then 
came  summer,  and  just  before  the  scythe  cut  the  green 
swath,  for  the  hay  harvest,  Mehetabel  became  a  mother. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  191 

The  child  that  was  born  to  her  was  small  and  deli- 
cate, it  lacked  the  sturdiness  of  its  father  and  of  the 
mother.  So  frail,  indeed,  did  the  little  life  seem  at 
first,  that  grave  doubts  were  entertained  whether  the 
babe  would  live  to  be  taken  to  church  to  be  baptized. 

Mehetabel  did  not  have  the  comfort  of  the  presence 
of  Mrs  Verstage. 

During  the  winter  that  good  woman's  malady  ad- 
vanced with  rapid  strides,  and  by  summer  she  was  con- 
fined to  her  room,  and  very  generally  to  her  bed. 

To  Mehetabel  it  was  not  only  a  grief  that  she  was 
deprived  of  the  assistance  of  her  "  mother,"  but  also 
that,  owing  to  her  own  condition,  she  was  unable  to  at- 
tend on  the  failing  woman.  Deprived  of  the  help  of 
Mrs.  Verstage,  Mehetabel  was  thrown  on  that  of  her 
sister-in-law,  Sally  Rocliffe.  Occasions  of  this  sort  call 
forth  all  that  is  good  and  tender  in  woman,  and  Sally 
was  not  at  bottom  either  a  bad  or  heartless  woman. 
She  had  been  embittered  by  a  struggle  with  poverty 
that  had  been  incessant,  and  had  been  allowed  free  use 
of  her  tongue  by  a  husband,  all  whose  self-esteem  had 
been  taken  out  of  him  by  his  adventure  with  the 
''  Countess  Charlotte,"  and  the  derision  which  had 
rained  on  him  since.  She  was  an  envious  and  a  spiteful 
woman,  and  bore  a  bitter  grudge  against  Mehetabel 
for  disappointing  her  ambition  of  getting  her  brother's 
farm  for  her  own  son  Samuel.  But  on  the  occasion 
when  called  to  the  assistance  of  her  sister-in-law,  she 
laid  aside  her  malevolence,  and  the  true  humanity  in 
the  depths  of  her  nature  woke  up.  She  showed  Mehet- 
abel kindness,  though  in  ungracious  manner. 

Jonas  exhibited  no  interest  in  the  accession  to  his 
family,  he  would  hardly  look  at  the  babe,  and  refused 
to  kiss  it. 

At  Mehetabel's  request  he  came  up  to  see  her,  in 
her  room ;  he  stood  aloof,  and  showed  no  token  of 
kindliness  and  consideration.     Sarah  went  downstairs. 

"  Jonas,"  said  the  young  mother,  *'  I  have  wished 
to  have  a  word  with  you.  You  have  been  very  much 
engaged,  I  suppose,  and  could  not  well  spare  time  to 
3ee  me  before," 


192  THE  BROOM-SQUIRR 

"  Well,  what  have  you  to  say  ?  Come  to  the  point." 
"  That  is  easily  done.  Let  all  be  well  between  us. 
Let  the  past  be  forgotten,  with  its  differences  and  mis- 
understandings. And  now  that  this  little  baby  is 
given  to  us,  let  it  be  a  bond  of  love  and  reconciliation, 
and  a  promise  of  happiness  to  us  both." 

The  Broom-Squire  looked  sideways  at  his  wife,  and 
said,  sulkily,  **  You  remind  one  of  Sanna  Verstage's 
story  of  Gilly  Cheel.  He'd  been  drinking  and  making 
a  racket  in  the  house,  and  was  so  troublesome  that 
she  had  to  turn  him  out  into  the  street  by  the 
shoulders.  What  did  he  do,  but  set  his  back  to  the 
door,  and  kick  with  his  heels  till  he'd  stove  in  some  of 
the  panels.  Then  he  went  to  the  windows,  and  beat 
in  the  panes,  and  when  he'd  made  a  fine  wreck  of  it 
all,  he  stuck  in  his  head,  and  said,  '  This  is  to  tell  you, 
Sanna  Verstage,  as  how  I  forgive  you  in  a  Christian 
spirit.'  " 

*'  Bideabout !     What  has  that  to  do  with  me  ?  " 
''  Everything.     Have  you  not  wronged  me,  sought 
to  compass  my  death,  given  your  love  away  from  me 
to  another,  crossed  me  in  all  my  wishes  ?  " 

**  No,  Jonas  ;  I  have  done  none  of  this.  I  never 
sought  your  death,  only  the  removal  of  one  who  made 
happiness  to  me  in  my  home  impossible.  It  was  for 
you,  because  of  you,  that  I  desired  his  removal.  As 
for  my  love,  I  have  tried  to  give  it  all  to  you,  but  you 
must  not  forget  that  already  from  infancy,  from  the 
first  moment  that  I  can  remember  anything,  Iver  was 
my  companion,  that  I  was  taught  to  look  up  to  him, 
and  to  love  him.  But,  indeed,  I  needed  no  teachin'  in 
that.  It  came  naturally,  just  as  the  buttercups  in  the 
meadow  in  spring,  and  the  blush  on  the  heather  in 
July.  I  had  not  seen  him  for  many  years,  and  I  did 
not  forget  him  for  all  that.  But  I  never  had  a  thought 
of  him  other  than  as  an  old  playmate.  He  returned 
home,  the  very  day  we  were  married,  Jonas,  as  you 
remember.  And  since  then,  he  often  came  to  the 
Punch-Bowl.  You  had  nothin'  against  that.  I  began 
to  feel  like  the  meadow  when  the  fresh  spring  sun 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  193 

shines  on  it,  that  all  the  dead  or  sleepin'  roots  woke 
up,  and  are  strong  again,  or  as  the  heather,  that  seemed 
dry  and  lifeless,  the  buds  come  once  more.  But  I 
knew  it  must  not  be,  and  I  fought  against  it ;  and  I  went 
to  Thor's  Stone  for  that  reason,  and  for  none  other." 

''  A  likely  tale,"  sneered  Jonas. 

"  Yes,  Bideabout,  it  is  a  likely  tale ;  it  is  the  only 
tale  at  all  likely  concerning  an  honest  heart  such  as 
mine.  If  there  be  truth  and  uprightness  in,  you,  you 
will  believe  me.  That  I  have  gone  through  a  great 
fight  I  do  not  deny.  That  I  have  been  driven  almost 
to  despair,  is  also  true.  That  I  have  cried  out  for  help 
— that  you  know,  for  you  heard  me,  and  I  was  heard." 

''Yes — in  that  a  lump  of  lead  was  sent  into  my 
shoulder." 

"  No,  Jonas,  in  that  this  little  innocent  was  given  to 
my  arms.  You  need  doubt  me  no  more :  you  need 
fear  for  me  and  yourself  no  longer.  I  have  no  mis- 
trust in  myself  at  all  now  that  I  have  this."  Lovingly, 
with  full  eyes,  the  mother  held  up  the  child,  then 
clasped  it  to  her  bosom,  and  covered  the  little  head  and 
tiny  hands  with  kisses. 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  all  that  has  been  between 
us?"  asked  Bideabout,  sneeringly. 

"  It  has  everything  to  do,"  answered  Mehetabel. 
"  It  is  a  little  physician  to  heal  all  our  wounds  with  its 
gentle  hand.  It  is  a  tiny  sower  to  strew  love  and  the 
seeds  of  happiness  in  our  united  lives.  It  is  a  little 
herald  angel  that  appears  to  announce  to  us  peace  and 
goodwill." 

"  I  dun  know,"  muttered  Jonas.  "  It  don't  seem 
hke  to  be  any  of  that." 

"  You  have  not  looked  in  the  little  face,  felt  the 
little  hands,  as  I  have.  Why,  if  I  had  any  ache  and 
pain,  those  wee  fingers  would  with  their  touch  drive 
all  away.  But  indeed,  Jonas,  since  it  came  I  have  had 
no  ache,  no  pain  at  all.  All  looks  to  me  like  sunshine 
and  sweet  summer  weather.  Do  you  know  what 
mother  said  to  me,  many  months  ago,  when  first  I  told 
her  what  I  was  expecting?" 
13 


194  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

**  Dun  know  that  I  care  to  hear." 

**  She  gave  me  a  cookery  book,  and  she  said  to  me 
that  when  the  little  golden  beam  shone  into  this  dark 
house  it  would  fill  it  with  light,  and  that,  with  the  baby 
and  me — cooking  you  nice  things  to  eat,  as  wouldn't 
cost  much,  but  still  nice,  then  all  would  be  right  and 
happy,  and  after  all — Paradise,  Jonas." 

'*  It  seems  to  me  as  Sanna  Verstage  knows  nuthin' 
about  it." 

"  Jonas,"  pleaded  Mehetabel,  "  give  the  little  one  a 
kiss.     Take  it  in  your  arms." 

He  turned  away. 

"Jonas,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  discouragement,  after 
a  pause,  and  after  having  held  out  the  child  to  him  in 
vain,  and  then  taken  it  back  to  her  bosom,  "  what  are 
you  stampin'  for?" 

He  was  beating  his  foot  on  the  flooring. 

**  I  want  Sally  to  come  up.  I  thought  you  had 
something  to  say,  and  it  seems  there  is  nuthin'." 

"  Nothing,  Jonas  ?  Do  not  go.  Do  not  leave  me 
thus.  This  is  the  first  time  you  have  been  here  since 
this  little  herald  of  goodwill  appeared  in  my  sky.  Do 
not  go  !  Come  to  me.  Put  your  hand  in  mine,  say 
that  all  is  love  and  peace  between  us,  and  there  will  be 
no  more  mistrust  and  hard  words.  I  will  do  my  duty 
by  you  to  the  very  best  of  my  power,  but,  oh,  Jonas, 
this  will  be  a  light  thing  to  accomplish  if  there  be  love. 
Without — it  will  be  heavy  indeed." 

He  continued  stamping.     "  Will  Sally  never  come  ?  " 

"  Jonas !  there  is  one  thing  more  I  desired  to  say, 
What  is  the  name  to  be  given  to  the  little  fellow  ?  It 
is  right  you  should  give  him  one." 

"I!"  exclaimed  the  Broom-Squire,  making  for  the 
stairs.  **  I  !  Call  him  any  name  you  will,  but  not 
mine.  Call  him,"  he  turned  his  mean  face  round,  full 
of  rancor,  and  with  his  lip  drawn  up  on  one  side,  "  as 
you  like — call  him,  if  it  please  you — Iver." 

He  went  down  the  stairs  muttering.  What  words 
more  he  said  were  lost  in  the  noise  of  his  feet. 

"  Oh,  my  babe  !  my  babe  !  "  sobbed  Mehetabel ;  "  a 
herald  not  of  goodwill  but  of  wicked  strife  !  " 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  195 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A  BEQUEST. 

As  Mehetabel  became  strong,  the  better  feeling 
towards  her  in  the  heart  of  Sally  Rocliffe  sank  out  of 
sight,  and  the  old  ill-humor  and  jealousy  took  the 
upper  hand  once  more.  It  was  but  too  obvious  to  the 
young  mother  that  the  woman  would  have  been  well 
content  had  the  feeble  flame  of  life  in  the  child  been 
extinguished.  This  little  life  stood  between  her  son 
Samuel  and  the  inheritance  of  the  Kink's  farm. 

Whatever  was  necessary  for  the  child  was  done,  but 
done  grudgingly,  and  Mehetabel  soon  learned  that  the 
little  being  that  clung  to  her,  and  drew  the  milk  of  life 
from  her  bosom,  was  without  a  friend  except  herself, 
in  the  Punch-Bowl.  Jonas  maintained  a  cold  estrange- 
ment from  both  her  and  the  babe,  its  aunt  would  have 
welcomed  its  death. 

The  knowledge  of  this  rendered  her  infant  only  more 
dear  to  Mehetabel.  Hers  was  a  loving  nature,  one 
that  hungered  and  panted  for  love.  She  had  clung  as 
much  as  was  allowed  to  the  hostess  at  the  inn.  She 
had  been  prepared  with  all  her  heart  to  love  the  man 
to  whom  she  had  promised  love.  But  this  had  been 
rendered  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  by  his  conduct. 
She  would  have  forgiven  whatever  wrong  he  had  done 
her,  had  he  shown  the  smallest  token  of  affection  for 
his  child.  Now  that  he  refused  the  poor,  helpless 
creature  the  least  particle  of  the  love  that  was  its  due, 
her  heart  that  had  expanded  towards  him,  turned  away 
and  poured  all  its  warmth  on  the  child. 

And  in  love  for  it  she  was  satisfied.  She  could  dis- 
pense with  the  love  of  others.  She  thought,  cared  for, 
lived  but  for  this  one  little  object  which  engrossed  her 
entire  horizon,  filled  every  corner  of  her  heart. 


196  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

Marvellous  is  maternal  love  above  every  other  love 
on  earth,  the  most  complete  reflex  of  the  love  of  the 
Creator  for  His  creatures.  In  connubial  love  there  is 
something  selfish.  It  insists  on  reciprocity.  In  filial 
love  there  is  ah  admixture  of  gratitude  for  treatment 
in  the  past.  In  maternal  love  there  is  nothing  self- 
seeking,  it  is  pure  benevolence,  giving,  continuous 
giving,  of  time,  of  thought,  of  body  labor,  of  sleep,  of 
everything.  It  asks  for  nothing  in  return,  it  expects 
nothing. 

Under  the  power  of  this  mighty  love  Mehetabel 
rapidly  became  strong,  and  bloomed.  The  color 
returned  to  her  cheek,  the  brightness  to  her  eye,  the 
smile  to  her  lips,  and  mirth  to  her  heart. 

Whatever  seeds  of  love  for  Iver  had  sprung  up  in 
her  were  smothered  under  the  luxuriance  of  this  new 
love  that  left  in  her  soul  no  space  for  any  other.  She 
thought  no  more  of  Iver,  for  she  had  no  thought  for 
any  one  other  than  her  child. 

She  who  had  never  had  any  one  of  her  own  round 
whom  to  throw  her  arms,  and  to  clasp  to  her  heart, 
had  now  this  frail  infant ;  and  the  love  that  might  have 
been  dispersed  among  many  recipients  was  given  en- 
tire to  the  child — a  love  without  stint,  a  love  without 
bounds,  a  love  infinitely  pure  and  holy  as  the  love  that 
reigns  in  Heaven.  So  completely  absorbed  was  Mehet- 
abel in  her  love  of  the  child,  that  the  ill-humors  of 
Sarah  Rocliffe  affected  her  not,  nor  did  the  callousness 
of  her  husband  deeply  wound  her.  So  absorbed  was 
she,  that  she  hardly  gave  a  thought  to  Simon  Verstage 
and  Susanna,  and  it  was  with  a  pang  of  self-reproach 
that  she  received  an  urgent  appeal  from  the  latter  to 
visit  her,  sent  through  a  messenger,  along  with  a  re- 
quest that  she  would  bring  her  infant  with  her  in 
the  conveyance  sent  from  the  Ship  Inn  for  the  pur- 
pose. . 

With  readiness  and  at  once  Mehetabel  obeyed  the 
summons.  There  was  a  bright  flush  of  pleasure  in  her 
cheek  as  she  mounted  to  her  place  in  the  little  cart,  as- 
sisted by  Joe  Filmer,  the  ostler  at  the  Ship,  and  folded 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  197 

her  shawl  about  the  living  morsel  that  was  all  the  world 
to  her. 

"  Well,  upon  my  word,"  said  Joe,  "  I  think,  Matabel, 
you've  grown  prettier  thail  ever,  and  if  Bideabout 
bain't  a  happy  man,  he's  different  constituted  from 
most  of  us." 

Joe  might  well  express  his  admiration.  The  young 
mother  was  singularly  lovely  now,  with  sufficient  of  the 
delicacy  of  her  late  confinement  still  on  her,  and  with 
the  glow  of  love  and  pride  glorifying  her  face. 

She  was  very  pleased  to  go  to  the  Ship,  not  so  much 
because  she  wanted  to  see  the  hostess,  as  because  she 
desired  to  show  her  the  babe. 

"  How  is  mother?"  she  asked  of  Joe  Filmer. 

The  ostler  shook  his  head. 

"  I  should  say  she  hain't  long  to  live.  She  changed 
terrible  last  week.  If  it  weren't  for  her  stories  about 
Gilly  Cheel,  and  one  or  another,  one  wouldn't  believe 
it  was  the  same  woman.  And  the  master,  he  is  that 
composed  over  it  all — it  is  wonderful,  wonderful." 

Mehetabel  was  shocked.  She  was  not  prepared  for 
this  news,  and  the  brightness  went  out  of  her  face. 
She  was  even  more  alarmed  and  troubled  when  she 
saw  Mrs.  Verstage,  on  whose  countenance  the  shadow 
of  approaching  death  was  plainly  lying. 

But  the  hostess  had  lost  none  of  the  energy  and 
directness  of  her  character. 

"  My  dear  Matabel,"  she  said,  **  it's  no  use  you  wish- 
in'  an'  hopin'.  Wishin'  an'  hopin'  never  made  puff 
paste  without  lard.  I  haven't  got  in  me  the  one  thing 
which  could  raise  me  up  again — the  power  to  shake  off 
my  complaint.  That  is  gone  from  me.  I  thought  for 
long  I  could  fight  it,  and  by  not  givin'  way  tire  it  out. 
You  can  do  that  with  a  stubborn  horse,  but  not  with  a 
complaint  such  as  mine.  But  there — no  more  about 
me,  show  me  the  young  Broom-Squire." 

After  the  usual  scene  incident  on  the  exhibition  of 
a  babe  that  is  its  mother's  pride,  a  scene  that  every 
woman  can  fill  in  for  herself,  and  which  every  man 
would  ask  to  be   excused   to   witness,  Mrs.  Verstage 


198  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

said :  "  Matabel,  let  there  be  no  disguise  between  us. 
How  do  you  and  your  husband  stand  to  each  other 
now?  " 

"  I  would  rather  you  did  not  ask  me,"  was  the  young 
wife's  answer,  after  some  hesitation. 

"  That  tells  me  all,"  said  the  hostess.  "  I  did  hope 
that  the  birth  of  a  little  son  or  daughter  would  have 
made  all  right,  assisted  by  the  cookery  book,  but  I  see 
plainly  that  it  has  not.  I  have  heard  some  sort  of 
talks  about  it.  Matabel,  now  that  I  stand,  not  with 
one,  but  with  two  feet  on  the  brink  of  my  grave,  I 
view  matters  in  a  very  different  light  from  what  I  did 
before,  and  I  do  not  mind  tellin'  you  that  I  have  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  I  did  a  wrong  thing  in  persuad- 
in'  you  to  take  Bideabout.  I  have  had  this  troublin' 
me  for  a  long  time,  and  it  has  not  allowed  me  rest.  I 
have  not  had  much  sleep  of  late,  because  of  the  pain, 
and  because  I  always  have  been  an  active  woman,  and 
it  puts  me  out  to  be  a  prisoner  in  my  own  room,  and 
not  able  to  get  about.  Well,  Matabel,  I  have  fretted 
a  good  deal  over  this,  and  have  not  been  able  to  set  my 
conscience  at  ease.  When  Polly  knocked  off  the  spout 
of  my  china  teapot,  I  said  to  her,  *  You  must  buy  me 
another  out  of  your  wages.*  She  got  one,  but  'twasn't 
the  same.  It  couldn't  be  the  same.  The  fashion  is 
gone  out,  and  they  don't  make  'em  as  they  did.  It  is 
the  same  with  your  marriage  with  Bideabout.  The 
thing  is  done  and  can't  be  undone.  So  I  need  only 
consider  how  I  can  make  it  up  in  some  other  way." 

"  Mother,  pray  say  nothing  more  about  this.  God 
has  given  me  my  baby,  and  I  am  happy." 

**  God  has  given  you  that,"  said  Mrs.  Verstage, ''  but 
I  have  given  you  nothing.  I  have  done  nothin'  to 
make  amends  for  the  great  wrong  I  did  you,  and  which 
was  the  spoiling  of  your  life.  It  is  not  much  I  can  do, 
but  do  somethin'  I  must,  and  I  will,  or  I  shall  not  die 
happy.  Now,  my  plan  is  this.  I  have  saved  some 
money.  I  have  for  many  years  been  puttin'  away  for 
Iver,  but  he  does  not  want  it  greatly.  I  intend  to 
leave  to  you  a  hundred  pounds." 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  199 

"  Mother,  I  pray  you  do  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"  I  must  do  it,  Matabel,  to  ease  my  mind." 

"  Mother,  it  will  make  me  miserable." 

'*  Why  so  ?  " 

Mehetabel  did  not  answer. 

"  I  intend  this  hundred  pounds  to  be  your  own,  and 
I  shall  so  leave  it  that  it  shall  be  yours,  and  yours  only." 

"  Mother,  it  will  make  matters  worse."  After  some 
hesitation,  and  with  a  heightened  color,  she  told  Mrs. 
Verstage  about  the  fifteen  pounds  given  her  on  the 
wedding  day  by  Simon.  She  told  it  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  screen  her  husband  to  the  utmost.  "  You  know, 
mother,  Jonas  has  high  notions  about  duty,  and  thinks 
it  not  well  that  we  should  have  separate  purses.  Of 
course  he  must  judge  in  these  matters,  and  he  is,  no 
doubt,  right,  whereas  I  am  wrong.  But,  as  he  does 
hold  this  opinion,  it  would  anger  him  were  I  to  have 
this  money,  and  I  know  what  the  end  would  be,  that 
I  should  have  to  give  it  all  up  to  him,  so  that  there 
might  be  peace  between  us.     I  dare  say  he  is  right." 

"  I  have  heard  folks  say  that  man  should  do  the 
courtin'  before  marriage,  and  the  woman  after,  but  I 
don't  hold  with  it.  You  may  give  way  to  them  too 
much.  There  was  Betsy  Chivers  was  that  mild  and 
humoring  to  her  husband  that  at  last  he  made  her  do 
everything,  even  clean  his  teeth  for  him.  The  hun- 
dred pounds  is  for  you,  whether  you  wish  to  have  it  or 
not.     It  is  of  no  use  your  sayin*  another  word." 

"  Do  you  mind,  if  it  were  given  instead  to  the  baby  ? 
May  it  be  left  to  him  instead  of  me  ?  Then  there 
would  not  be  the  same  difficulty?" 

*'  Certainly,  if  you  like  it ;  but  you  don't  want  me  to 
leave  him  the  use  of  it  in  his  present  condition.  Why, 
he'd  put  it  into  his  mouth  for  certain.  There  must  be 
some  one  to  look  after  it  for  him  till  he  come  of  age, 
and  take  it  upon  himself,  as  the  baptism  service  says." 

"  There  must,  of  course,"  said  Mehetabel,  medita- 
tively. 

"  Money,  edged  tools,  and  fire — these  are  the  three 
things  children  mustn't  meddle  with.     But    it    isn't 


200  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

children  only  as  must  be  kept  off  money.  Men  are 
just  as  bad.  They  have  a  way  of  getting  rid  of  it  is 
just  astonishin'  to  us  females.  They  be  just  like  jack- 
daws. I  know  them  creeturs — I  mean  jackdaws,  not 
men,  come  in  at  the  winder  and  pull  all  the  pins  out  of 
the  cushion,  and  carry  'em  off  to  line  their  nest  with 
'em.  And  men — they  are  terrible  secretive  with 
money.  They  can't  leave  a  lump  sum  alone,  but  must 
be  pickin'  at  it,  for  all  the  world  like  Polly  and  currant 
cake,  or  raisin  puddin'.  As  for  men,  they've  exactly 
the  same  itchin'  after  money.  If  I  leave  the  hundred 
pounds  to  your  Httle  mite,  and  I'm  willin'  to  do  it,  I 
must  make  some  one  trustee,  and  I  don't  fancy  putting 
that  upon  Bideabout." 

"  Of  course  Jonas  would  look  to  his  own  child's  in- 
terests, yet " 

'*  I  know.  There's  a  complaint  some  folks  have, 
they're  always  eatin'  and  you  can  never  see  as  their 
food  has  profited  them.  It's  so  with  Bideabout — he  is 
ever  picking  up  money,  but  it  don't  seem  to  do  him  a 
scrap  of  good.  What  has  he  done  with  his  money  that 
he  has  saved  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

**  And  I  don't  suppose  he  does  himself.  No,  if  you 
wish  me  to  leave  the  hundred  pounds  to  the  child  in- 
stead of  to  yourself  then  I  will  do  so,  heartily,  and 
look  about  for  some  one  in  whom  I  can  place  confi- 
dence to  undertake  to  be  trustee.  Simon  is  too  old 
and  he  is  getting  foolish.  My  word,  if,  after  I'm  dead 
and  gone,  Simon  should  take  it  into  his  stupid  head  to 
marry  Polly — I'd  rise  out  of  my  grave  to  forbid  the 
banns." 

*' You  need  have  no  fear  of  that,  mother." 

"  If  you  had  been  in  the  house  you  could  have 
kept  an  eye  on  him.  There,  again,  my  wrong  deed 
finds  me  out.  Matabel,  it's  my  solemn  conviction  that 
there's  no  foolishness  men  won't  be  up  to,  especially 
widowers.  They've  been  kept  in  order  so  long  that 
they  break  out  when  their  wives  are  dead.  Have  you 
ever  seen  a  horse  as  has  been  clipped  and  kept  all  win- 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  201 

ter  on  hay  in  the  stables  when  he  chances  to  get  out 
into  a  meadow,  up  go  his  heels,  he  turns  frisky,  gallops 
about,  and  there's  no  catching  him  again — not  even 
with  oats.  He  prefers  the  fresh  grass  and  his  freedom. 
That's  just  like  widowers  ;  or  they're  ginger  beer  bot- 
tles, very  much  up,  wi*  their  corks  out.  What  a  pity 
it  is  Providence  has  given  men  so  little  common  sense ! 
Well,  I'll  see  to  that  matter  of  the  trusteeship,  and  the 
little  man  shall  have  a  hundred  pounds  as  a  stand-by 
in  the  chance  his  father  may  have  fooled  away  his  own 
money." 


202  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

SURPRISES. 

Jonas  Kink  not  only  raised  no  objection  to  having 
an  entertainment  at  the  baptism  of  his  child,  but  he 
expressed  his  hearty  desire  that  nothing  should  be 
spared  to  repay  the  gossips  for  what  they  had  done  to 
assist  the  infant  into  the  Christian  Church,  by  feeding 
them  well,  and  giving  them  what  they  valued  more 
highly,  something  to  drink. 

Mehetabel  was  gratified,  and  hoped  that  this  was  a 
token  that,  rude  as  his  manner  was,  he  would  gradually 
unbend  and  become  amiable.  On  the  day  of  the  chris- 
tening, Bideabout  was  in  a  bustle,  he  passed  from  one 
room  to  another  to  see  that  all  was  in  order ;  he  rubbed 
his  palms  and  laughed  to  himself.  Occasionally  his 
eyes  rested  on  Sally  Rocliffe,  and  then  there  was  a 
malicious  twinkle  in  them.  There  was  little  affection 
lost  between  the  two.  Neither  took  pains  to  conciliate 
the  other.  Each  commented  freely  on  those  char- 
acteristics of  the  other  which  were  in  fact  common  to 
both. 

In  his  ambition  to  make  a  man  of  comparative  sub- 
stance of  his  son  Jonas,  the  father  had  not  dealt  liber- 
ally by  his  daughter,  and  this  had  rankled  in  Sarah's 
heart.  She  had  irritated  her  brother  by  continually 
raking  up  this  grievance,  and  assuring  him  that  a 
brother  with  natural  feeling  would,  out  of  generosity 
of  his  heart,  make  amends  for  the  injustice  of  the 
father. 

Jonas  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  doing  any- 
thing of  the  sort,  and  this  he  conveyed  to  Sarah  in  the 
most  bald  and  offensive  manner  possible.  For  twenty 
years,  ever  since  the  father's  death,  these   miserable 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  203 

bickerings  had  gone  on.  Sally  had  not  the  sense  to 
desist,  where  the  pursuit  of  the  topic  could  avail 
nothing,  nor  Jonas  the  kindliness  to  make  her  a  present 
which  might  moderate  her  sense  of  having  been  un- 
justly treated. 

He  had  been  obliged  to  employ  his  sister,  and  yet 
he  suspected,  not  without  cause,  that  she  took  away 
from  his  house  such  scraps  of  food  and  pots  and  pip- 
kins as  were  not  likely  to  be  missed.  The  woman 
justified  her  conduct  to  herself  by  the  argument  that 
she  was  inadequately  paid  in  coin,  and  that  she  was 
forced  to  pilfer  in  order  to  recoup  herself  for  the  out- 
lay of  time  and  muscle  in  her  brother's  habitation. 
Thomas  Rocliffe  was  a  quiet,  harmless  old  man,  crushed 
not  only  by  the  derision  which  had  clung  to  him  like  a 
robe  of  Nessus  ever  since  his  escapade  with  the  Countess 
Charlotte,  but  also  by  the  weight  of  his  wife's  tongue. 
He  had  sought  peace  by  non-resistance,  and  this  had 
encouraged  her  to  violence,  and  had  removed  the  only 
possible  check  to  her  temper.  He  was  not  a  clever 
man.  Most  people  thought  him  soft.  His  son  Samuel 
was  stupid  and  sullen,  rendered  both  by  his  mother's 
treatment  from  infancy.  Thomas  had  not  sufficient 
intelligence  and  spontaneity  to  make  a  struggle  to  over- 
come his  embarrassments,  and  force  himself  a  way  out 
of  his  difficulties.  Instead  of  the  debt  that  hampered 
him  being  gradually  reduced,  as  it  might  have  been  by 
a  man  with  energy,  it  had  increased.  Nothing  had 
been  spent  on  the  house  since  the  debt  had  been  first 
contracted,  and  it  was  not  water-tight.  Nothing  had 
been  done  to  the  land  to  dress  it,  to  increase  the  stock, 
to  open  up  another  spring  of  revenue.  When  a  bad 
year  came  the  family  fell  into  actual  distress.  When 
a  good  year  ensued  no  margin  was  left  to  serve  as  a 
provision  for  one  less  favorable. 

Mehetabel,  pleased  that  her  husband  had  put  no 
hindrance  in  the  way  of  a  christening  feast,  had  be- 
grudged none  of  the  necessary  expense,  was  active  and 
skilful  in  the  preparation  of  cakes  and  pies. 

To  the  church  she  had  to  go,  so  as  to  be  churched 


204  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

immediately  before  the  baptism,  and  Jonas  remained 
at  home,  as  he  said,  to  see  that  no  one  broke  in  and 
carried  off  the  good  things.  Never,  within  the  memory 
of  the  oldest  inhabitant  of  the  Punch-Bowl ;  never,  it 
may  safely  be  asserted,  since  the  Punch-Bowl  had  been 
formed,  had  there  been  seen  a  table  so  spread  as  that 
in  the  Kink's  farmhouse  on  the  day  of  the  christening, 
and  whilst  the  party  was  at  the  church.  In  the  first 
place  the  table  had  on  it  a  clean  linen  cover,  not 
riddled  with  holes  nor  spotted  with  iron  mould.  It 
was  exceptional  for  any  table  in  the  Punch-Bowl  to  be 
spread  with  linen.  There  stood  on  it  plated  and  red 
earthenware  dishes,  and  on  the  latter  many  good  things. 
At  one  end  was  a  cold  rabbit  pie.  Rabbits  were,  in- 
deed, a  glut  in  Thursley,  but  such  a  pie  was  a  pheno- 
menon. 

Bideabout's  mind  was  exercised  over  it.  He  was 
curious  to  know  whether  the  interior  corresponded  to 
the  promise  without.  He  inserted  a  knife  and  Hfted  the 
crust  just  sufficiently  to  allow  him  to  project  his  nose 
to  the  edge  of  the  dish  and  inhale  the  savor  of  the  con- 
tents. "  My  word  !  "  said  he,  *'  there's  stuffin'.  Rabbit 
and  stuffin'.  Wot  next — and  egg.  I  can  see  the 
glimmer  of  the  white  and  yaller." 

He  rose  from  his  stooping  posture  and  saw  Samuel 
RocHffe  at  the  window. 

He  beckoned  to  him  to  enter,  and  then  showed  him 
the  table.  "Did  you  ever  see  the  likes?"  he  asked. 
"  You  ain't  invited,  Sam,  but  you  can  look  over  it 
all.  There's  a  posy  of  flowers  in  the  middle  of  the 
table,  genteel  like,  as  if  it  were  a  public  house  dinner 
to  a  club,  and  look  at  this  pie.  Do  you  see  how 
crinkled  it  is  all  round,  like  the  frill  of  5^our  mother's 
nightcap  ?  That  was  done  with  the  scissors,  and  there's 
a  gloss  over  the  top.  That  were  effected  with  white  o' 
egg.  Just  think  of  that !  using  white  o'  egg  when  eggs 
is  eighteen  a  shilling,  for  making  the  pie  shine  like  your 
face  o'  Sundays  after  you've  yaller-soaped  it.  There's 
stuffin'  inside." 

'*  I  wish  there  were  in  my  inside,"  said  Samuel, 
surlily. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  205 

'*  You  ain't  invited.  Do  you  see  that  thing  all  of  a 
trimble  over  there,  a  sort  of  pale  ornamental  coorios- 
ity  ?  That's  called  a  blue-mange.  It's  made  of  isin- 
glass and  milk  and  rice  flour.  •  It's  not  for  ornament, 
but  to  be  eaten,  by  such  as  is  invited.  There  they 
come  !  You  cut  away.  If  you  was  a  few  years  older, 
we  might  have  invited  you.  But  there  ain't  room  for 
boys." 

The  unfortunate  Samuel  sulkily  retired,  casting  en- 
yious  eyes  at  the  more  favored  denizens  of  the  Punch- 
Bowl  who  were  arriving  to  partake  of  the  viands  only 
shown  to  him. 

The  guests  streamed  in  and  took  their  places.  They 
enjoyed  the  feast  prepared,  and  passed  encomiums 
on  their  hostess  for  her  cookery.  All  fought  shy  at 
first  of  the  blanc-mange.  None  had  seen  such  a  con- 
fection previously,  and  each  desired  that  his  fellow 
should  taste  before  committing  himself  to  a  helping. 

Mrs.  Verstage  had  sent  a  present  of  half-a-dozen 
bottles  of  currant  wine,  and  these  were  attacked  with- 
out any  hesitation. 

All  the  males  at  the  table  were  in  their  shirt-sleeves. 
No  man  thought  of  risking  his  Sunday  coat  by  wearing 
it,  even  though  the  viands  were  cold. 

Jonas  seemed  to  thoroughly  enjoy  himself.  He 
looked  about  and  laughed,  and  rubbed  his  hands  to- 
gether under  the  table. 

"  Beware  !  "  whispered  Sally  to  her  husband.  "  I 
can't  understand  Bideabout.  There's  some  joke  as 
tickles  his  in'ards  tremendous.     Wot  it  is,  I  don't  see." 

*'  He'll  let  it  out  presently,"  said  Thomas. 

As  soon  as  every  appetite  was  satisfied,  and  the 
guests  had  thrust  their  plates  from  them  into  the  midst 
of  the  table,  Giles  Cheel  stood  up,  and  looking  round 
cleared  his  throat,  and  said,  **  Ladies  and  gem'men, 
neighbors  all.  I  s'pose  on  such  an  occasion  as  this, 
and  after  such  a  feed,  it's  the  dooty  of  one  of  us  to 
make  a  speech.  And  as  I'm  the  oldest  and  most  re- 
spected of  the  Broom-Squires  of  the  Bowl,  I  think  it 
proves  as  I  should  express  the  gen'ral  feelin'  of  satis- 


2o6  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

faction  we  all  have.  That  there  rabbit  pie  might  ha* 
been  proud  to  call  itself  hare.  The  currant  wine  was 
comfortin*,  especially  to  such  as,  like  myself,  has  a 
touch  of  a  chill  below  the  ribs,  and  it  helps  digestion. 
There  be  some  new-fangled  notions  comin'  up  about 
taytotallin'.  I  don't  hold  by  'em.  The  world  was  once 
drownded  with  water,  and  I  don't  see  why  we  should 
have  Noah's  Floods  in  our  insides.  The  world  had 
quite  enough  taytotallin*  then." 

Giles  was  pulled  backwards  by  the  hand  of  his  wife, 
which  grasped  the  strap  of  his  waistcoat. 

**  Sit  down,  you're  ramblin'  from  the  p'int." 

"  Betsy,  let  go.     I  be  ramblin'  up  to  it." 

"  Sit  down,  they've  had  enough  o'  yer.** 

**  They've  hardly  had  a  taste." 

"  Everyone  be  laughin'  at  yer." 

"  I'm  just  about  bringin'  tears  into  their  eyes." 

"  If  you  go  on,  I'll  clap  my  hand  over  yer  mouth." 

"  And  then  I'll  punch  yer  head." 

The  daily  broil  in  the  Cheel  house  was  about  to  be 
produced  in  public.  It  was  stopped  by  Jonas,  who 
rose  to  his  feet,  and  with  a  leer  and  chuckle  round,  he 
said,  "  Neighbors  and  friends  and  all.  Very  much 
obliged  for  the  complerment.  But  don't  think  it  is  all 
about  a  baby.  Nothin'  of  the  kind.  It  is  becos  I 
wanted  all,  neighbors  and  friends,  to  be  together 
whilst  I  made  an  announcement  which  will  be  pleasant 
hearin'  to  some  parties,  and  astonishin*  to  all.  I  ain't 
goin'  to  detain  you  very  long,  for  what  I've  got  to  say 
might  be  packed  in  a  nutshell  and  carried  away  in  the 
stomick  of  a  tomtit.  You  all  of  you  know,  neighbors 
and  friends  all,  as  how  my  brother-in-law  made  a  fool 
of  himself,  and  was  made  a  fool  of  through  the  Coun- 
tess Charlotte.  And  how  that  his  farm  got  mort- 
gaged ;  and  since  then,  with  lawyers,  got  more  charged  ; 
and  the  family  have  led  a  strugglin'  life  since  to  keep 
their  heads  above  water.  Well,  I've  got  all  their 
mortgage  and  debts  into  my  hands,  and  intend " 

He  looked  round  with  a  malicious  laugh.  He  saw  a 
flutter  of  expectation  in  his  sister's  eyes. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  207 

"  No,  Sally.  I  ain't  going  to  give  'em  up.  I  hold 
'em,  and  ain't  goin'  to  stand  no  shilly-shally  about 
payments  when  due.  You  may  be  sure  of  that.  And 
wot  is  more,  I  won't  stand  no  nonsense  from  you  or 
Thomas  or  Samuel,  but  I  expect  you  to  be  my  very 
humble  servants,  or  I'll  sell  you  up." 

A  look  of  blank  consternation  fell  on  the  faces  of 
the  Rocliffes.  Others  looked  uneasy.  Not  the  Roc- 
liffes  only  were  partially  submerged. 

"  I've  somethin'  also  to  say  to  Gilly  Cheel.  I  ain't 
goin'  to  have  the  Punch-Bowl  made  a  Devil's  cauldron 
of  wi'  his  quarrels " 

"  Hear,  hear,"  from  Betsy  Cheel. 

'*  And  unless  he  lives  peaceable,  and  don't  trouble 
me  wi'  his  noise  and  she  wi'  her  cattewawlin'." 

"  That's  for  you,"  said  Jamaica,  and  nudged  his  wife. 

"  I'll  turn  'em  both  out,"  proceeded  Jonas.  "  For 
I've  been  gettin'  his  papers  into  my  hands  also.  And 
then,  as  to  the  Boxalls " 

The  members  of  that  clan  now  looked  blank.  Con- 
sternation was  spreading  to  all  at  table. 

'*As  to  the  Boxalls,"  continued  Jonas,  **  if  their 
time  hasn't  come  just  yet,  it's  comin'.  I  hope,  neigh- 
bors and  friends  all,  you've  enjyed  the  dessert." 

A  dead  silence  ensued.  Every  one  felt  that  it  would 
be  better  to  be  in  the  power  of  a  lawyer  than  of  Bide- 
about. 

Tears  of  mortification  and  resentment  rose  in  the  eyes 
of  Sally  Rocliffe.     Mehetabel  hung  her  head  in  shame. 

Then  Thomas,  stolid  and  surly,  flung  a  letter  across 
the  table  to  the  Broom-Squire.  '*  Take  that,"  he  said, 
"  I  don't  wan't  to  be  burdened  with  nothin'  of  your'n. 
'Tis  a  letter  been  lyin'  at  the  post  for  you,  and  Mistress 
Chivers  gave  it  me.  Wish  I  wos  rid  of  everything 
atwixt  us  as  I  be  of  that  there  letter  now." 

Jonas  took  the  missive,  turned  it  about,  then  care- 
lessly opened  it. 

As  he  read  his  color  faded,  and  he  had  hardly  read 
to  the  end  before  he  sank  back  in  his  chair  with  a  cry 
of  rage  and  despair ;  "  The  Wealden  bank  be  broke. 
I'm  a  ruined  man." 


2o8  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

ANOTHER  SURPRISE. 

Among  those  present  the  only  one  who  came  to  the 
assistance  of  Jonas  Kink  was  his  brother-in-law,  Thomas 
Rocliffe,  who,  thinking  that  Bideabout  was  going  to 
have  a  fit,  ran  to  him  and  unloosed  his  black  satin 
cravat. 

The  revulsion  of  feeling  in  the  rest  was  so  sudden  that 
it  produced  a  laugh.  He  who  had  been  exulting  in 
having  put  their  necks  under  his  foot  had  been  him- 
self struck  down  in  the  moment  of  his  triumph.  He 
had  sought  to  humble  them  in  a  manner  peculiarly 
mean,  and  no  compassion  was  felt  for  him  now  in  his 
distress. 

The  guests  filed  out  without  a  word  of  thanks  for 
the  meal  of  which  they  had  partaken,  or  an  expression 
of  pity  for  the  downcast  man. 

For  some  while  Bideabout  remained  motionless,  look- 
ing at  the  letter  before  him  on  the  table.  Mehetabel 
did  not  venture  to  approach  or  address  him.  She 
watched  him  with  anxiety,  not  knowing  in  which 
direction  the  brooding  rage  within  him  would  break 
forth.  He  was  now  like  a  thunder-cloud  charged  with 
electricity  and  threatening  all  with  whom  he  came  in 
contact. 

Hearing  the  wail  of  her  child,  she  was  glad  noise- 
lessly to  leave  the  room  and  hasten  to  comfort  it. 
Presently  Jonas  rose,  and  in  a  half  stupefied  condition 
went  to  the  stable  and  saddled  old  Clutch  that  he  might 
ride  to  Godalming  and  learn  whether  things  were  as 
bad  as  represented. 

In  his  impatience  to  announce  to  his  guests  that  he 
had  them  under  his  control  he  had  been  somewhat 
premature.     It  was  true  that  the  negotiations  were  com- 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  209 

plete  whereby  their  mortgages  and  obligations  were 
transferred  to  him,  but  the  money  that  he  was  to  pay 
therefor  had  not  been  made  over.  Now  it  would  not 
be  possible  for  him  to  complete  the  transaction.  Not 
only  so,  but  he  had  incurred  expenses  by  his  employ- 
ment of  a  solicitor  to  carry  out  his  design  which  it 
would  be  extremely  difficult  for  him  to  meet,  if  the 
bank  had  actually  failed. 

He  alone  of  all  the  squires  in  the  Punch-Bowl  had 
put  his  savings  into  a  bank,  and  he  had  done  this  be- 
cause he  was  so  frequently  and  so  long  from  home  that 
he  did  not  dare  to  leave  them  anywhere  in  his  house, 
lest  it  should  be  broken  into  during  his  absence. 

As  the  Broom-Squire  approached  Thursley  village  his 
horse  cast  a  shoe,  and  he  was  obliged  to  stop  at  the 
farrier's  to  have  old  Clutch  shod. 

"  How  do*y  do,  Squire  ?  "  said  the  blacksmith.  "  Been 
christenin*  your  baby,  I  hear." 

Bideabout  grunted  in  reply. 

"  One  comes  and  another  goes,"  said  the  farrier. 
"  S'pose  you've  heard  the  news  ?  " 

'*  Think  I  have,"  retorted  Jonas,  irritably.  "  It's 
them  banks  is  broke." 

*'  I  don't  mean  no  banks,"  said  the  blacksmith.  "  But 
Susanna  Verstage.  I  s'pose  you've  heard  she's  gone  ?  " 

"  Gone,  where  to  ?" 

''  That's  not  for  me  to  say.  She's  been  ailin'  some 
time  and  now  has  gone  off,  sudden  like.  O'  course  we 
knowed  it  must  come,  but  nobody  didn't  think  it 
would  ha'  come  so  sudden — and  she  seemed  such  a 
hearty  woman,  only  a  few  months  ago.  Well,  I  s'pose 
it's  ordained." 

The  Broom-Squire  did  not  ask  questions.  He  took 
very  little  interest  in  the  matter  of  the  death  of  the 
hostess  of  the  Ship.  His  mind  was  engrossed  in  his 
own  troubles. 

As  soon  as  old  Clutch  had  his  shoe  fitted  on,  and 
the  other  shoes  looked  to,  Bideabout  pursued  his  way. 

His  progress  was  not  fast.  Clutch  was  personally 
unaffected  by  the  failure  of  the  bank,  and  could  not 
14 


2IO  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

be  induced  to  accelerate  his  speed.  Beating  only 
made  him  more  stubborn,  and  when  Bideabout 
stretched  his  legs  out  to  the  furthest  possible  extent 
apart  that  was  possible,  and  then  brought  them  to- 
gether with  a  sudden  contraction  so  as  to  dig  his  heels 
into  the  horse's  ribs,  that  brought  Clutch  to  an  absolute 
standstill. 

On  reaching  Godalming,  the  worst  anticipations  of 
Jonas  were  confirmed.  The  bank  was  closed ;  his 
savings  were  lost.  Nothing  had  been  withdrawn  in 
time  to  secure  them  by  giving  him  a  hold  on  the  squat- 
ter settlements  of  his  neighbors.  And  he  himself  had 
incurred  liabilities  that  might  bring  him  into  the  same 
pit  that  he  had  digged  for  his  fellows. 

He  turned  homewards  in  great  discouragement  and 
acridity  of  heart.  His  fellows  in  the  Punch-Bowl  had 
never  regarded  him  with  cordiality  ;  now  they  would 
be  his  combined  enemies.  The  thoughts  of  his  heart 
were  gloomy.  In  no  direction  could  he  see  light.  He 
now  did  not  urge  Clutch  along  beyond  the  pace  at 
which  the  old  horse  had  made  up  his  mind  to  go  ;  it 
was  immaterial  to  Jonas  whether  he  were  on  the  road 
or  at  home.     Nowhere  would  he  be  free  from  his  trouble. 

He  would,  perhaps,  have  turned  into  the  Ship  for  a 
glass  of  spirits  but,  remembering  that  he  had  been  told 
the  hostess  was  dead,  he  did  not  feel  inclined  to  enter 
a  house  where  he  would  be  still  further  depressed.  He 
had  not,  however,  gone  far  out  of  the  village,  before 
he  heard  his  name  called  from  behind,  and  on  turning 
his  head  saw  Joe  Filmer  in  pursuit. 

The  ostler  came  up  to  him,  panting  and  said — 

"  Ter'rible  news,  ain't  it  ?  The  old  lady  gone.  But 
that  ain't  why  I've  stopped  you.  'Tis  she  bade  me 
give  your  missus  a  message — as  she  hadn't  forgot  the 
bequest  of  money.  But  we're  that  muddled  and  busy 
at  the  Ship,  I  can't  go  to  the  Punch-Bowl,  so  I  just 
runned  after  you.  You'll  take  the  message  for  me, 
won't  you  ?  " 

"  Money ! "  exclaimed  Bideabout,  reining  in  old 
Clutch^  who  now  objected  to  be  stayed  on  his  way  to 


SIMON   WAS   SEATED   BEFORE   A   GLOWING   BIRS.V  »-/V^r^2//.       ^      ;^    -> 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  211 

the  familiar  stable.  "  Money  !  "  repeated  Bideabout, 
and  then  lugged  at  old  Clutch's  rein  till  he  had  turned 
the  brute  about. 

The  horse  had  sufficient  obstinacy  in  him  to  persist 
in  his  intentions  of  not  being  stopped  on  the  high-road, 
and  though  turned  round  he  continued  to  scramble 
along  in  the  reverse  direction  to  his  home. 

"  Hang  you,  you  old  toad  !  "  exclaimed  Jonas.  **  If 
you  will,  I  don't  care.  Be  it  so.  We  will  go  to  the 
Ship.     I  say,  Joe !     What  was   that  about  money  ?  " 

"  It  was  that  the  missus  made  me  promise  to  inform 
your  missus,  that  she'd  not  forgotten  her  undertakin', 
but  had  made  provision  that  she  should  have  the 
money  as  she  wished." 

"  The  money — how  much  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.     She  did  not  say." 

"  And  she  has  left  money  to  Matabel  ?  *' 

"  I  suppose  so.  She  was  always  amazin'  fond  of 
her.  She  was  a  savin'  woman,  and  had  put  away  some- 
thing of  her  own." 

"  I'll  go  to  the  Ship.  I  will,  certainly.  I  ought  not 
to  have  passed  without  a  word  with  Simon  on  his  loss. 
I  suppose  he's  sure  to  know  how  much  it  is?  " 

"  I  suppose  so.  Missus  would  consult  him.  She 
made  a  show  o'  that  always,  but  nevertheless  followed 
her  own  head." 

**  And  Simon  is  terrible  cut  up  ?  " 

"  Bears  it  like  a  man." 

"  Here,  take  old  Clutch ;  give  him  some  oats,  and 
kick  him,  he  deserves  it,  he's  been  so  unruly.  But, 
stay — no.  Hold  his  head,  and  I'll  kick  him,  afore  he's 
had  his  oats.  He's  a  darned  malicious  old  Radical. 
Put  in  some  pepper  to  his  nose  when  he's  done  his  oats." 

Bideabout  went  into  the  house,  through  the  porch, 
and  entered  the  bar. 

Simon  was  seated  there  smoking  a  long  clay,  with 
his  feet  on  the  fender,  before  a  glowing  fire,  and  with 
a  stiff  glass  of  hot  punch  on  the  table  at  his  side. 

"  Sorry  for  you,"  was  Jonas's  brief  address  of  salu- 
tation and  condolence. 


ui  THE  BkOOM-SQUlRE. 

Mr.  Verstage  shook  his  head.  "  That's  what  my 
old  woman  said." 

Seeing  an  expression  of  surprise  and  query  in  the 
Broom-Squire's  face,  he  explained :  "  Not  after,  afore, 
in  course.  She  said,  *  Very  sorry  for  you,  Simon, 
very.  It's  wus  for  you  than  for  me.  I  shall  die — you'll 
make  yourself  ridic'lous.*  " 

*'What  did  she  mean?" 

"  Can't  think,"  answered  Simon,  with  great  solem- 
nity. "Will  you  have  a  drop  of  something?  In  this 
vale  of  tears  we  want  consolation."  Then,  in  a  loud 
voice,  "  Polly — another  glass." 

After  looking  steadily  and  sadly  into  the  embers, 
Mr.  Verstage  said :  "  I  don't  believe  that  woman 
ever  made  a  mistake  in  her  life — but  once." 

"  When  was  that  ?  " 

"  When  she  gave  Matabel  to  you.  We  wanted  her 
in  this  house.  Her  proper  place  was  here.  It  all 
comes  wi'  meddlin'  wi'  what  ort  to  be  let  alone — and 
that  is  Providence.  There's  never  no  sayin'  but 
Iver " 

Dimly  the  old  host  saw  that  he  was  floundering  upon 
delicate  ground.  **  My  doctrine  is,"  said  he,  "  let 
things  alone  and  they'll  come  right  in  the  end." 

Bideabout  moved  uneasily.  He  winced  at  the  ref- 
erence to  Iver.  But  what  he  now  really  was  anxious 
to  arrive  at  was  the  matter  of  money  left  by  Mrs.  Ver- 
stage to  Mehetabel. 

"  Now,"  said  Simon,  looking  after  the  serving-maid, 
as  she  left  the  bar,  when  she  had  deposited  the  tumbler 
beside  Bideabout.  "  Now,  my  old  woman  was  amazin' 
set  against  that  girl.  Why — I  can't  think.  She's  a 
good  girl  when  let  alone.  But  Sanna  never  would  let 
her  alone.  She  were  ever  naggin'  at  her;  so  that  she 
upset  the  poor  thing's  nerve.  She  broke  the  taypot 
and  chucked  the  beer  to  the  pigs,  but  that  was  because 
she  were  flummeried  wi'  my  old  woman  going  on  at  her 
so.  She  said  to  me  she  really  couldn't  bear  to  think 
how  I'd  go  on  after  she  were  gone.  I  sed,  to  comfort 
her,  that  I  knowed  Polly  would  do  her  best.     *  She'll  do 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  213 

the  best  she  can  for  herself,'  answered  Sanna,  as  sharp 
as  she  said  *  Yes,  I  will,'  when  we  was  married.  I 
don't  know  what  her  meania'  was.  You  won't  believe 
it,  but  it's  true  what  I'm  going  to  tell  you.  She  said 
to  me,  did  Susanna,  *  Simon  there  was  Mary  Toft, 
couldn't  die,  because  there  were  wild-fowl  feathers  in 
her  bed.  They  had  to  take  her  off  the  four-poster  and 
get  another  feather-bed,  before  she  could  die  right  off. 
Now,'  said  Sanna,  '  it's  somethin'  like  that  with  me. 
I  ain't  got  wild-bird  feathers  under  me,  but  there's  a 
wild  fowl  in  the  house,  and  that's  Polly.  So  long  as 
she's  here  die  I  can't,  and  die  I  won't.*  *  Well,  old 
woman,'  sed  I,  *  if  that's  all,  to  accommodate  you,  I'll 
send  Polly  to  her  mother,*  and  so  I  did — and  she  died 
right  on  end,  peaceable." 

''But  Polly  is  here.** 

'*  Oh,  yes — when  Sanna  were  gone — we  couldn't  do 
wi'out  her.  She  knowed  that  well  enough  and  came 
back — runnin'  like  a  long  dog,  and  very  good  and 
thoughtful  it  was  of  her.  Most  young  wimen  ain't  con- 
siderate like  that." 

This  was  all  wide  of  the  subject  that  engrossed  the 
interest  of  Bideabout,  and  had  induced  him  to  revisit 
the  Ship.  As  the  host  made  no  allusion  to  the  topic,  the 
Broom-Squire  plunged  into  the  matter,  headforemost. 

"  Joe  Filmer,"  said  he,  "  called  me  back.  I  didn't 
wish  to  come  in  and  trouble  you  now.  But  Joe  said 
as  how  you  wanted  to  speak  to  me  about  some  money 
as  your  wife  had  left  with  you  for  my  Matabel ;  and  I 
thought  it  might  be  botherin'  your  mind  when  you 
wanted  to  turn  it  to  religious  thought,  and  so  I  came 
back  to  say  I'd  relieve  you  of  it  and  take  it  at  once." 

*'  Money!  Oh  !  "  Mr.  Verstage  was  a  little  difficult 
to  turn  from  one  line  of  thought  to  another.  **  Polly 
never  stood  out  for  higher  wages.  Not  like  some  who, 
when  they've  been  with  you  just  long  enough  to  learn 
the  ways  of  the  house,  and  to  make  themselves  useful, 
and  not  to  break  everything  they  handle,  and  spoil 
everything  they  touch,  ask,  *  Please  will  you  advance 
my  wages  ?  '  Polly  never  did  that.'* 


214  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

**  I  am  not  speakin'  of  Polly,"  said  Jonas,  peevishly, 
"  but  of  some  money  that  Joe  Filmer  told  me  you 
wanted  to  tell  me  about.  Something  that  your  poor 
wife  desired  you  to  give  to  Matabel." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  that  hundred  pounds.  I  wasn't 
against  it.  On  the  contrary,  I  said  I'd  add  fifty  to  it. 
I  always  said  Sanna  did  wrong  in  giving  Matabel  to — 
I  mean  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  take  it,  and  thus  relieve 
your  mind  of  all  care." 

"  Oh,  it's  no  care  at  all." 

"  It  must  be,  and  besides — it  must  interfere  with 
your  turning  your  mind  to  serious  thoughts." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all.  I  can't  give  you  the  money.  It  is 
not  for  you." 

**  No ;  but  it  is  for  Matabel,  and  we  are  one." 

"Oh,  no;  it's  not  for  Matabel." 

"  The  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  is  not  for  Matabel  ? 
And  yet  you  said  it  was  intended  to  make  up  to  her 
for  something  you  did  not  exactly  explain." 

"  No,  it  is  not  for  Matabel.  Matabel  might  have  had 
it,  I  daresay,  but  my  old  woman  said  she  was  set  against 
that." 

"  Then  we  are  to  be  deprived  of  it  by  her  folly  ?  " 
The  Broom-Squire  flushed  purple. 

"  Oh,  no.     It  is  all  right.     It  is  for  the  child." 

**  For  the  child  !  That  is  all  the  same.  I  am  the 
father,  and  will  take  care  of  the  money." 

"  But  I  can't  give  it  you." 

"  Have  you  not  got  it  ?  " 

**The  money  is  all  right.  Sanna's  hundred  pounds 
— I  know  where  that  is,  and  my  fifty  shall  go  along 
with  it.  I  was  always  fond  of  Matabel.  But  the  child 
was  only  baptized  to-day,  and  won't  be  old  enough  to 
enjoy  it  for  many  years." 

"  In  the  meantime  it  can  be  laid  out  to  its  advan- 
tage," urged  Bideabout. 

"  I  daresay,"  said  Simon,  "  but  I've  nothin*  to  do 
with  that,  and  you've  nothin'  to  do  with  that." 

"  Then  who  has?  " 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  215 

"  Iver,  of  course." 

"  Iver  !  "     The  Broom-Squire  turned  livid  as  a  corpse. 

"  You  see,"  pursued  the  host,  "  Sanna  said  as  how  she 
wouldn't  make  me  trustee,  f  was  too  old,  and  I  might 
be  dead,  or  done  something  terrible  foolish,  before  the 
child  came  of  age  to  take  it  on  itself,  to  use  her  very 
words.  So  she  wouldn't  make  me  trustee,  but  she  put 
it  all  into  Iver's  hands  to  hold  for  the  little  chap.  She 
were  a  won'erful  shrewd  woman  were  Sanna,  and  I've 
no  doubt  she  was  right." 

"  Iver  trustee — for  my  child  !  " 

"  Yes — why  not  ?  " 

The  Broom-Squire  stood  up,  and  without  tasting  the 
glass  of  punch  mixed  for  him,  without  a  farewell  to  the 
landlord,  went  forth. 


2i6  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

MARKHAM. 

The  funeral  of  Mrs.  Verstage  was  conducted  with 
all  the  pomp  and  circumstance  that  delight  the  rustic 
mind.  Bideabout  attended,  and  his  hat  was  adorned 
with  a  black  silk  weeper  that  was  speedily  converted 
by  Mehetabel,  at  his  desire,  into  a  Sunday  waistcoat. 

In  this  silk  waistcoat  he  started  on  old  Clutch  one 
day  for  Guildford,  without  informing  his  wife  or  sister 
whither  he  was  bound. 

The  child  was  deHcate  and  fretful,  engaging  most  of 
its  mother's  time  and  engrossing  all  her  thought. 

She  had  found  an  old  cradle  of  oak,  with  a  hood  to 
it,  the  whole  quaintly  and  rudely  carved,  the  rockers 
ending  in  snakes'  heads,  in  which  several  generations 
of  Kinks  had  lain ;  in  which,  indeed,  Jonas  had  spent 
his  early  infancy,  and  had  pleaded  for  his  mother's 
love  and  clamored  for  her  attention.  Whether  with 
the  thought  of  amusing  the  child,  or  merely  out  of  the 
overflow  of  motherly  love  that  seeks  to  adorn  and 
glorify  the  babe,  Mehetabel  had  picked  the  few  late 
flowers  that  lingered  on  in  spite  of  frost,  some  pinched 
chrysanthemums,  a  red  robin  that  had  withstood  the 
cold,  some  twigs  of  butcher's  broom  with  blood-red 
berries  that  had  defied  it,  and  these  she  had  stuck 
about  the  cradle  in  little  gimlet  holes  that  had  been 
drilled  round  the  edge,  probably  to  contain  pegs  that 
might  hold  down  a  cover,  to  screen  out  glaring  sun  or 
cutting  draught. 

Now,  as  Mehetabel  rocked  the  cradle  and  knitted, 
singing  to  the  sobbing  child,  the  flowers  wavered 
about  the  infant,  forming  a  wreath  of  color,  and  freshen- 
ing the  air  with  their  pure  fragrance.  Each  flower  in 
itself  was   without    much    perceptible   savor,  yet  the 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  217 

whole  combined  exhaled  a  healthy,  clean,  and  invigorat- 
ing waft  as  of  summer  air  over  a  meadow. 

The  wreath  that  surrounded  the  child  was  not  cir- 
cular but  oblong,  almost  as  though  engirding  a  tiny- 
grave,  but  this  Mehetabel  did  not  see. 

Playing  the  cradle  with  her  foot,  with  the  sun  shin- 
ing in  at  the  window  and  streaking  the  foot,  she  sang — 

"  My  heart  is  like  a  fountain  true 

That  flows  and  flows  with  love  to  you ; 
As  chirps  the  lark  unto  the  tree, 
So  chirps  my  pretty  babe  to  me. 
And  it's  O  !  sweet,  sweet !  and  a  lullaby." 

But  the  answer  was  a  peevish  moan  from  the  bed. 
The  young  mother  stooped  over  the  cradle. 

"  Oh,  little  lark  !  little  lark  !  this  is  no  chirp, 
Would  you  were  as  glad  and  as  gay  as  the  lark !  " 

Then,  resuming  her  rocking,  she  sang, — 

"  There's  not  a  rose  where'er  I  seek 
As  comely  as  my  baby's  cheek. 
There's  not  a  comb  of  honey  bee, 
So  full  of  sweets  as  babe  to  me. 

And  it's  O  !  sweet,  sweet !  and  a  lullaby." 

Again  she  bowed  over  the  crib,  and  all  the  rocking 
flowers  quivered  and  stood  still. 

"  Baby,  darling  !  Why  are  there  such  poor  roses  in 
your  little  cheek  ?  I  would  value  them  above  all  the 
China  roses  ever  grown !  Look  at  the  Red  Robin, 
my  sweet,  my  sweet,  and  become  as  pink  as  is  that." 

"  There's  not  a  star  that  shines  on  high 
Is  brighter  than  my  baby's  eye. 
There's  not  a  boat  upon  the  sea 
Can  dance  as  baby  does  to  me. 
And  it's  O  1  sweet,  sweet,  and  a  lullaby." 

"  No  silk  was  ever  spun  so  fine 
As  is  the  hair  of  baby  mine. 
My  baby  smells  more  sweet  to  me 
Than  smells  in  spring  the  elder  tree. 
And  it's  O !  sweet,  sweet,  and  a  lullaby ! 

The  child  would  not  sleep. 

Again  the  mother  stayed  the  rocking  of  the  cradle, 
and  the  swaying  of  the  flowers. 

She  lifted  the  little  creature  from  its  bed  carefully 


2i8  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

lest  the  sharp-leafed  butcher's  broom  should  scratch 
it.  How  surrounded  was  that  crib  with  spikes,  and 
they  poisonous!  And  the  red  berries  oozed  out  of  the 
ribs  of  the  cruel  needle-armed  leaves,  like  drops  of 
heart's  blood. 

Mehetabel  took  her  child  to  her  bosom,  and  rocked 
her  own  chair,  and  as  she  rocked,  the  sunbeam  flashed 
across  her  face,  and  then  she  was  in  shadow,  then  an- 
other flash,  and  again  shadow,  and  from  her  face,  when 
sunlit,  a  reflection  of  light  flooded  the  little  white  dress 
of  the  babe,  and  illumined  the  tiny  arm,  and  restless 
fingers  laid  against  her  bosom. 

"  A  little  fish  swims  in  the  well, 
So  in  my  heart  does  baby  dwell. 
A  little  flower  blows  on  the  tree, 
My  baby  is  the  flower  to  me. 
And  it's  O  !  sweet,  sweet  I  and  a  lullaby  I  " 

A  wondrous  expression  of  peace  and  contentment  was 
on  Mehetabel's  face.  None  of  the  care  and  pain  that 
had  lined  it,  none  of  the  gloom  of  hopelessness  that 
had  lain  on  it,  had  left  now  thereon  a  trace.  In  her 
child  all  her  hope  was  centred,  all  her  love  culminated. 

"  The  King  has  sceptre,  crown  and  ball, 

You  are  my  sceptre,  crown  and  all, 

For  all  his  robes  of  royal  silk, 

More  fair  your  skin,  as  white  as  mUk. 
And  it's  O !  sweet,  sweet,  and  a  lullaby ! 
"  Ten  thousand  parks  where  deer  may  run, 

Ten  thousand  roses  in  the  sun. 

Ten  thousand  pearls  beneath  the  sea. 

My  babe,  more  precious  is  to  me. 
And  it's  O  !  sweet,  sweet,  and  a  lullaby !  " 

Presently  gentle  sleep  descended  on  the  head  of  the 
child,  the  pink  eyelids  closed,  the  restless  hand  ceased 
to  grope  and  clutch,  and  the  breath  came  evenly. 
Mehetabel  laid  her  little  one  again  in  its  cradle,  and  re- 
commenced the  rocking  with  the  accompanying  sway- 
ing of  the  flowers. 

Now  that  the  child  was  asleep  Mehetabel  sat  lightly 
swinging  the  cradle,  afraid  to  leave  it  at  rest  lest  that 
of  her  infant  should  again  be  broken. 

She  thought  of  the  death  of  her  almost  mother  Su- 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  219 

sanna  Verstage,  the  only  woman  that  had  shown  her 
kindness,  except  the  dame  of  the  school  she  had  at- 
tended as  a  child. 

Mehetabel's  heart  overflowed  with  tender  love 
towards  the  deceased,  she  fully,  frankly  forgave  her 
the  cruel  blow  whereby  she  had  wounded  her,  and  had 
driven  her  out  of  her  house  and  into  that  of  Jonas. 
And  yet  it  was  a  deadly  wrong :  a  wrong  that  could 
never  be  redressed.  The  wound  dealt  her  would  canker 
her  heart  away ;  it  was  of  such  a  nature  that  nothing 
could  heal  it.  Mehetabel  was  well  aware  of  this.  She 
could  see  brightness  before  her  in  one  direction  only. 
From  her  child  alone  could  she  derive  hope  and  joy  in 
the  future.  And  yet  she  forgave  Mrs.  Verstage  with 
a  generous  forgiveness  which  was  part  of  her  nature. 
She  would  forgive  Jonas  anything,  everything,  if  he 
would  but  acknowledge  his  wrong,  and  turn  to  her  in 
love. 

And  now  she  found  that  she  could  think  of  Iver 
without  a  quickening  of  her  pulses. 

In  her  love  for  her  babe  all  other  loves  had  been 
swallowed  up,  refined,  reduced  in  force.  She  loved 
Iver  still,  but  only  as  a  friend,  a  brother.  Her  breast 
had  room  for  one  prevailing  love  only — that  of  her 
child. 

As  she  sat,  slightly  rocking  the  cradle,  and  with  a 
smile  dimpling  her  cheek,  a  knock  sounded  at  the  door, 
and  at  her  call  there  entered  a  young  man  whom  she  had 
seen  during  the  winter  with  Jonas.  He  was  a  gentle- 
man, and  she  had  been  told  that  he  had  lodged  at  the 
Huts,  and  she  knew  that  he  had  engaged  the  Broom- 
Squire  to  attend  him,  when  duck-shooting,  at  the 
Fransham  ponds. 

Mehetabel  apologized  for  not  rising  as  he  entered, 
and  pointed  to  the  cradle. 

"  My  name  is  Markham,"  said  the  young  man,  **  I 
have  come  to  see  Mr.  Kink.  This  is  his  house,  I 
believe?" 

"Yes,  sir;  but  he  is  not  at  home." 

"  Will  he  be  long  absent  ?  " 


220  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

"  I  do  not  know.     Will  you  please  to  take  a  chair  ?  " 

"  Thank  you."  The  young  gentleman  seated  him- 
self, wiped  his  brow,  and  threw  his  cap  on  the  floor. 

"  I  want  some  fishing.  I  made  Mr.  Kink's  acquaintr 
ance,  shooting,  during  the  winter.  Excuse  me,  are  you 
his  sister  or  his  wife  ?  " 

"  His  wife,  sir." 

"  You  are  very  young." 

To  this  Mehetabel  made  no  reply. 

"  And  uncommonly  pretty,"  pursued  Mr.  Markham, 
looking  at  her  with  admiration.  **  Where  the  deuce 
did  the  Broom-Squire  pick  you  up?" 

The  young  mother  was  annoyed  —  a  little  color 
formed  in  her  cheek.  "  Can  I  give  a  message  to 
Jonas  ?  "     she  asked. 

"  A  message  ?  Tell  him  he's  a  lucky  dog.  By 
heaven  !  I  had  no  idea  that  a  pearl  lay  at  the  bottom 
of  the  Punch-Bowl.     And  that  is  your  baby  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

Mehetabel  lightly  raised  the  sheet  that  covered  the 
child's  head. 

The  stranger  stooped  and  looked  at  the  sleeping 
child,  that  seemed  to  be  made  uneasy  by  his  glance, 
and  turned  moaning  away. 

"  It  looks  as  if  it  were  for  another  world — not  this," 
said  the  gentleman. 

The  flush  spread  over  Mehetabel's  brow.  "  Sir,"  she 
said  in  a  fluttering  voice,  "  You  are  not  a  doctor,  are 
you?" 

"  Oh,  dear,  no  ! — a  barrister." 

"  Then,"  said  she,  in  a  tone  of  reUef,  **  you  do  not 
know.     The  child  is  very  well,  but  young." 

"  That  may  be." 

The  young  man  returned  to  his  seat. 

"  I  have  left  a  fishing-rod  outside,"  he  said.  "  I 
wanted  Kink  to  accompany  me  on  one  of  the  ponds 
where  there  is  a  punt.  There  must  be  plenty  of  fish  in 
these  sheets  of  water?" 

"  I  believe  there  are,  sir.  As  Jonas  is  away,  perhaps 
Samuel  RocHffe  can  help  you.     He  is  my  husband's 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  221 

nephew,  and  lives  in  the  cottage,  a  little  further 
down." 

"  Thank  you,  I'll  look  him  up.  But,  hang  me,  if  I 
like  to  leave — with  such  atti»actions  here  I  do  not  care 
to  leave." 

After  standing,  considering  a  moment,  hardly  taking 
his  eyes  off  Mehetabel,  he  said — "  My  pretty  little 
hostess,  if  ever  I  begrudged  a  man  in  my  life,  I 
begrudge  Jonas  Kink — his  wife.  Come  and  tell  me 
when  you  find  him  intolerable,  and  see  if  I  cannot 
professionally  help  you  to  be  rid  of  such  a  curmudgeon. 
Who  knows? — the  time  may  come!  My  name  is 
Markham." 

Then  he  departed. 


222  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
THE  PICTURE. 

Meanwhile  Bideabout  was  on  his  way  to  the  town 
of  Guildford.  He  made  slow  progress,  for  old  Clutch 
had  no  mind  for  speed.  The  horse  was  mistrustful  as 
to  whither  he  was  going,  and  how  he  would  be  treated 
on  reaching  his  destination.  No  amount  of  beating 
availed.  He  had  laid  on  his  winter  growth  of  hair, 
which  served  as  a  mat,  breaking  the  force  of  the  strokes 
administered.  He  was  proof  against  kicks,  for  when- 
ever Jonas  extended  his  legs  for  the  purpose  of  bring- 
ing his  heels  sharply  against  the  sides  of  Clutch,  the  old 
horse  drew  a  deep  inspiration  and  blew  himself  out ; 
thus  blunting  the  force  of  the  heels  driven  into  him. 

At  length,  however,  Jonas  and  old  Clutch  did  reach 
Guildford.  To  old  Clutch's  great  astonishment  he 
found  himself  in  a  town  new  to  him,  more  populous 
than  Godalming  ;  and  being  strongly  convinced  that  he 
had  done  enough,  and  that  every  house  was  an  inn 
open  to  receive  him,  and  being  eager  to  make  himself 
comfortable,  he  endeavored  to  carry  his  master  into  a 
china-shop,  then  into  a  linen-draper's  shop,  and  next 
into  a  green-grocer's. 

Jonas  was  constrained  to  stable  his  obstinate  steed 
in  the  first  tavern  he  came  to,  and  to  make  the  rest  of 
his  way  on  foot. 

Guildford  is,  to  this  day,  a  picturesque  old  town, 
dominated  by  the  ruins  of  a  fine  royal  castle,  and  with 
a  quaint  Grammar  School  and  hospital.  At  the 
present  time  it  is  going  through  immense  transforma- 
tion. It  has  become  a  favorite  retiring  place  for  old 
officers  of  the  army,  supplanting  in  this  respect  Chel- 
tenham. But  at  the  period  of  this  tale  it  was  a  sleepy, 
ancient,  county  town,  that  woke  to  life  on  market  days, 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  tz^ 

and  rested  through  the  remainder  of  the  week.  It  did 
not  work  six  days  and  keep  one  Sabbath,  but  held  the 
Sabbath  for  six  days  and  woke  to  activity  on  one  only. 

Now  nobody  quite  knows  who  are  all  the  new  people 
that  flow  into  the  villas,  and  flood  the  suburbs.  At  the 
period  whereof  we  tell  there  were  no  invaders  of  the 
place.  Everybody  knew  every  one  else  in  his  own 
clique,  and  knew  of  and  looked  down  on  every  one  else 
in  the  clique  below  him,  and  thanked  God  that  he  only 
knew  of  him,  and  did  not  know  him  ;  and  looked  up 
at  and  slandered  every  one  else  in  the  clique  above  him. 

At  the  time  of  which  we  tell  there  was  no  greater 
joy  to  those  in  each  of  the  many  cliques  than  to  be 
able  to  stare  at  those  who  belonged  to  a  clique  es- 
teemed lower,  and  to  ask  who  those  people  were,  and 
profess  never  to  have  heard  their  names,  and  to  wonder 
out  of  what  dungheap  they  had  sprung. 

At  that  time  the  quintessence  of  society  in  the  town 
consisted  of  such  as  were  called  upon  and  returned  the 
calls  of  the  county  families.  Now,  alas,  almost  every 
country  gentleman's  house  in  the  neighborhood  is  no 
longer  occupied  by  its  ancient  proprietors,  and  is  sold 
or  let  to  successful  tradespeople,  so  that  the  quintes- 
sence of  society  in  the  town  plumes  itself  on  not  know- 
ing the  occupants  of  these  stately  mansions. 

At  that  time  the  family  that  inhabited  a  house  which 
had  been  built  fifty  years  before  regarded  with  con- 
tempt those  who  occupied  one  built  only  thirty  years 
before.  At  that  time  those  who  had  a  remote  con- 
nection by  cousinship  twice  removed  with  an  Honorable, 
deemed  themselves  justified  in  considering  every  one 
else,  not  so  privileged,  as  dishonorable. 

Now  all  this  is  past,  or  is  in  process  of  passing  away, 
and  in  Guildford  and  its  suburbs,  as  elsewhere,  the  old 
order  changeth,  and  the  poll  of  a  Parish  Council  teaches 
men  their  levels  in  the  general  estimation. 

Without  much  difficulty,  Jonas  Kink  was  able  to  dis- 
cover where  the  artist,  Iver  Verstage,  had  his  house 
and  his  studio.  The  house  was  small,  in  a  side  street, 
and  the  name  was  on  the  door. 


224  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

Jonas  was  ushered  into  the  workshop  by  an  elderly 
maid,  and  then  saw  Iver  in  a  blouse  with  his  arms  tied 
about  with  string ;  a  mahl-stick  in  one  hand  and  a  brush 
in  the  other. 

Iver  was  surprised  to  see  the  Broom-Squire,  and  in- 
disposed to  welcome  him.  He  purposely  retained  stick 
and  brush  in  his  hands,  so  as  not  to  be  able  to  strike 
palms  with  the  man  who  had  deprived  him  of  the 
woman  he  admired  and  loved  best  in  the  world  ;  and 
whom  he  suspected  of  misusing  her. 

Jonas  looked  about  the  studio,  and  his  eye  was  caught 
by  a  picture  of  Mehetabel  at  the  well  head.  The  young 
artist  had  devoted  his  best  efforts  to  finishing  his  study, 
and  working  it  up  into  an  effective  and  altogether 
charming  painting. 

The  Broom-Squire  held  in  the  right  hand  the  stick 
wherewith  he  had  thrashed  old  Clutch,  and  this  he  now 
transferred  to  the  left,  whilst  extending  his  right  hand 
and  forcing  a  smile  on  his  leathery  face.  The  artist 
made  a  pretence  of  seeking  out  some  place  where  he 
could  put  down  the  articles  encumbering  his  hands, 
but  finding  none,  he  was  unable  to  return  the  salutation. 

"  Let  bygones  be  bygones,"  said  Jonas,  and  he 
dropped  his  hand.  **  Fine  pictur'  that,  very  like  my 
wife.     What,  now,  have  you  sold  that  for?" 

"  It  is  not  sold  at  all.  I  do  not  think  I  shall  part 
with  the  painting." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Jonas,  with  a  malevolent  twinkle 
in  his  eyes  and  a*  flush  on  his  cheek-bones. 

"  Because  it  is  a  good  sample  of  my  ability  which  I 
can  show  to  such  as  come  as  customers,  and  also  be- 
cause it  reminds  me  of  an  old  friend." 

"  Then  you  may.  take  my  portrait,"  said  Jonas,  "  and 
sell  this.  Mine  will  do  as  well,  and  you  knowed  me 
afore  you  did  Matabel." 

"That  is  true,"  laughed  Iver,  "  but  I  am  not  sure 
that  you  would  make  so  striking  a  subject,  sp  inspiring 
to  the  artist;  Did  you  come  all  the  way  from  the 
Punch-Bowl  to  see  the  painting?" 

'*  No,  I  didn't,"  answered  Jonas. 

**  Then  had  you  business  in  the  town  ?  " 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  225 

"  None  particular." 

"  Was  it  to  give  me  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  and 
asking  after  old  friends  at  Thursley  ?  " 

"  Old  friends,"  sneered  Bideabout ;  **  much  the  like 
o*  you  cares  for  them  as  is  old.  It's  the  young  and  the 
bloomin'  as  is  to  your  fancy.  And  I  reckon  it  ain't 
friends  as  you  would  ask  about,  but  a  friend,  and  that's 
Matabel.  Well,  I  don't  mind  tellin'  of  yer  that  she's 
got  a  baby,  but  I  s'pose  you've  heard  that,  and  the 
child  ain't  over  strong  and  healthy,  such  as  ort  to  be  in 
the  Punch-Bowl,  where  we're  all  hard  as  nails." 

"  Aye,  not  in  physique  only  ?  " 

**  I  don't  know  nothin'  about  physic.  I  didn't  take 
it  when  I  were  poorly,  and  nobody  ever  did  in  the 
Punch-Bowl  as  I've  heard  tell  on.  I  sent  once  to 
Gorlmyn  (Godalming)  for  a  sleepin*  draught,  when  I 
were  bad  wi'  that  shot  in  my  shoulder  as  you  knows 
of.     But  I  never  took  it,  not  I." 

**  So  you've  come  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I've  come,  civil  and  neighbor-like,  to  see 
you." 

''  What  about  ?     Will  you  sit  down  ?  " 

"  Thanky,  I  just  about  Hke  to  stand.  Yes,  I've  come 
to  see  you — on  business." 

"On  business ! " 

"  Yes,  on  business.  You're  trustee,  I  hear,  for  the 
child." 

"  To  be  sure  I  am.  Mother  put  away  a  hundred 
pounds,  and  father  has  added  fifty  to  it — and  it  is  for 
your  little  one,  some  day." 

"  Well,"  said  Jonas,  '*  what  I've  come  about  is  I 
wants  it  now." 

"  What,  the  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  ?  " 

"Aye,  I  reckon  the  hundred  and  fifty  pounds." 

"  But  the  money  is  not  left  to  you." 

"  I  know  it  b'aint ;  I  want  it  for  the  child." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  have  it." 

"  Look  here.  Master  Iver  Verstage,  you  never  ort  to 
ha'  been  made  trustee  for  my  child.  It's  so  much  as 
puttin'  a  slight  and  an  insult  on  me.  If  that  child  be 
15 


226  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

mine  then  Fm  the  one  as  should  have  the  trust.  Don't 
I  know  best  what  the  child  wants  ?  Don't  I  know  best 
how  to  lay  it  out  for  its  advantage  ?  The  money  ort 
to  ha'  been  put  in  my  hands  and  in  none  other.  That's 
my  opinion." 

"  Bideabout !  "  answered  Iver,  "  it  is  not  a  question 
as  to  what  my  father  and  mother  should  have  done.  I 
did  not  seek  to  be  made  trustee.  It  was  a  freak  on 
the  part  of  my  dear  mother.  As  she  has  done  it,  there 
it  is;  neither  you  nor  I  can  alter  that." 

"  Yes.     You  can  renounce  trusteeship." 

"  That  will  not  help.  Then  I  suppose  the  money 
would  go  into  Chancery,  and  would  be  consumed  there 
without  any  of  it  reaching  the  child." 

Jonas  considered,  and  then  shook  his  head. 

"  You  can  hand  it  over  to  me." 

"  Then  I  should  be  held  responsible  and  have  to  re- 
fund when  the  little  fellow  comes  of  age." 

"  He  may  never  come  of  age." 

"  That  neither  you  nor  I  can  tell." 

"  Now  look  here,"  said  the  Broom-Squire,  assuming 
an  air  of  confidence,  "  between  you  and  me,  as  old 
acquaintances,  and  me  as  gave  you  the  feathers  out  o'  a 
snipe's  wing  to  make  your  first  brush — and,  so  to  speak, 
launched  you  in  your  career  of  greatness — between 
you  and  me  I'm  in  an  awkward  perdic'ment.  Through 
the  failure  of  the  Wealden  Bank,  of  which  you've  heard 
tell,  I've  lost  pretty  much  everything  as  I  had  man- 
aged to  save  through  years  of  toil  and  frugality.  And 
now  I'm  menaced  in  my  little  property.  I  don't  know 
as  I  shall  be  able  to  hold  it,  unless  some  friend  comes 
to  the  help.  Well,  now,  who'll  that  little  property  go 
to  but  my  son — that  there  precious  darlin'  baby  as 
we're  talkin'  about.  He'll  grow  out  o'  his  squawlin',  and 
he'll  want  his  property  unincumbered  and  clear,  as  it 
came  to  me.  That  I  can't  give  him  unless  helped.  I 
don't  ask  that  there  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  for  my- 
self. I  know  very  well  that  I  can't  have  it  for  myself. 
But  I  demand  it  for  the  child ;  it  is  now  or  never  can 
the  little  estate  in  the  Punch-Bowl  be  saved  from  fallin' 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  227 

into  the  hands  of  them  darned  lawyers.  A  stitch  in 
time  saves  nine,  and  a  little  help  now  may  be  all  that 
is  wanted  to  keep  the  property  clean  and  clear  and  un- 
embarrassed wi'  debt.  If  once  we  get  our  heads  under 
water  we'll  all  get  drowned,  me  and  Matabel  and  the 
kid — sure  as  crabs  ain't  garden  apples." 

"  That  may  be  very  true,  Bideabout/'  answered  Iver, 
"  but  for  all  that  I  cannot  let  the  money  out  of  my 
control." 

"  Ain't  you  bound  to  spend  it  on  the  child  ?  " 

"  I  am  bound  to  reserve  it  whole  and  intact  for  the 
child." 

"  But  can  you  not  see,"  persisted  Jonas,  "  that  you 
are  doing  that  for  the  child,  it  would  wish  above  all, 
when  come  to  years  of  discretion." 

"  That  is  possible,  but  my  hands  are  tied." 

"  In  truth  you  will  not." 

"  I  cannot." 

"  I  don't  believe  you.  It  is  because  you  want  to 
spite  me  that  you  will  not  help." 

"  Not  at  all,  Bideabout.  I  wish  well  to  the  child  and 
its  mother,  and,  of  course,  to  you.  But  I  cannot  break 
a  trust." 

"You  will  not?" 

"  If  no  other  word  will  suit  you — be  it  so — I  will  not." 

Jonas  Kink  fumed  blood  red. 

"You  think  to  have  me  there.  I  shouldn't  be  sur- 
prised but  it's  you  who  are  at  the  bottom  of  all — and 
will  buy  me  up  and  buy  me  out,  that  you  and  Matabel 
may  have  the  place  to  yourselves.  It  shall  never  be. 
I  know  what  was  meant  when  Sanna  Verstage  made 
you  trustee.  I  am  to  be  reckoned  with.  I  can  assure 
you  of  that.  I  shall  find  means  to  keep  my  property 
from  you  and  my  wife  also. 

He  raised  his  stick  and  fell  to  beating  the  picture  of 
Mehetabel  with  it ;  till  it  was  rent  to  rags. 

"  Not  even  her  picture  shall  you  have — and  I  would 
it  were  her  I  were  slashin'  and  breakin'  to  pieces  as  I've 
done  to  this  picture.  It  may  come  to  that  in  the  end 
— but  out  of  my  power  and  into  your  hands  she  shall 
never  go." 


228  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE  ONLY  CHANGE. 

Jonas  Kink,  after  much  objurgation  and  persuasion, 
had  induced  old  Clutch  to  leave  his  stable  at  Guild- 
ford, and  return  home  by  way  of  Godalming. 

But  the  horse  was  unfamiliar  with  the  road.  He  had 
been  ridden  along  it  in  reverse  direction  in  the  morn- 
ing, but,  as  every  one  knows,  a  way  wears  quite  a 
different  aspect  under  such  circumstances.  Old  Clutch 
was  mistrustful.  Having  been  taken  such  an  unprece- 
dentedly  long  journey,  he  was  without  confidence  that 
his  master  might  not  prolong  the  expedition  to  a  still 
further  distance.  Accordingly  he  was  exceedingly 
troublesome  and  unmanageable  on  the  road  from 
Guildford,  and  his  behavior  served  to  work  the  temper 
of  Jonas  to  the  extremity  of  irritability. 

The  horse,  on  approaching  Godalming,  began  to 
limp.  Bideabout  descended,  and  examined  each  hoof. 
He  could  see  no  stone  there,  nothing  to  account  for 
the  lameness  of  old  Clutch,  which,  however,  became 
so  pronounced  as  he  entered  the  street  of  the  little 
town  that  he  was  obliged  to  stable  the  beast,  and  rest  it. 

Then  he  went  direct  to  the  offices  of  a  small  at- 
torney of  the  name  of  Barelegs,  who  had  been  engaged 
on  his  business. 

As  he  entered  the  office,  Mr.  Barelegs  looked  up 
from  a  deed  he  was  reading,  turned  his  head,  and  con- 
templated his  client. 

There  was  something  in  his  manner  that  angered 
Jonas,  already  excited  and  inclined  to  be  annoyed  at 
trifles,  and  he  said  irritably, 

"  You  look  at  me.  Mister  Barelegs,  just  as  does  old 
Clutch  when  I  come  into  the  stable,  expectin'  a  feed  of 
corn,  he  does." 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  229 

"  And  no  doubt  he  deserves  it." 

"  He  thinks  he  does,  but  he  don't." 

"  And  no  doubt  he  gets  hi^  feed." 

"  There  is  doubt  about  it.  He  gets  it  when  I  choose 
to  give  it,  not  when  he  glowers  at  me — that  way,  he's 
wonderful  artificial  is  old  Clutch." 

"  I  dare  be  sworn,  Mr.  Kink,  if  he  has  served  you 
well,  he  expects  to  be  paid  for  it." 

"  He's  an  owdacious  old  Radical,"  observed  Jonas. 
**  Just  now  he's  shamming  lame,  becos  I  rode  him  into 
Guildford,  and  he  likes  the  inn  here.  There's  an  old 
broken-winded,  galled  gray  mare,  I  reckon  he's  set  his 
fancy  on  in  the  same  yard,  and  I'm  pretty  sure  this 
lameness  means  nothin'  more  nor  less  than  that  he 
wants  to  be  a-courtin'.  To  see  them  two  bosses,  when 
they  meet,  rubbin'  heads,  is  enough  to  make  a  fellow 
sick.  And  Clutch,  at  his  age  too — when  he  ort  to  be 
thinkin'  of  his  latter  end  !  " 

**  We've  all  our  little  weaknesses,  Mr.  Kink,  man  and 
beast  alike.     You  courted — not  so  long  ago." 

"  I  never  courted  in  the  ridic'lous  fashion  of  other 
folks.  I'd  none  of  your  yardin',  and  aiblen'  to  aiblen', 
and  waistin'." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Kink  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know  the  three  stages  o'  courtin*  here  ? 
Fust  o'  all,  the  young  pair  walks  each  other  about  a 
yard  apart — that's  yardin*.  Then  they  gits  more 
familiar,  and  takes  each  other's  arms.  That's  wot  we 
calls  in  these  parts  aiblen'  to  aiblen',  and  last,  when 
they  curls  their  arms  round  each  other,  won'erful 
familiar,  that's  called  waistin'.  No,  I  never  went 
through  none  o'  them  courses  in  my  courtship.  I 
weren't  such  a  fool.  But  I  was  tellin'  you  about  old 
Clutch." 

"  I  want  to  hear  about  that  party.  What  if  he  does 
not  receive  his  feed.     Doesn't  he  kick?" 

Jonas  laughed  ironically. 

*'  He  tried  that  on  once.  But  I  got  a  halter,  and 
fastened  it  to  his  tail  by  the  roots,  and  made  a  loop 
t'other  end,  and  when  he  put  up  his  heels  I  slipped  one 


230  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

into  the  loop,  and  he  nigh  pulled  his  tail  off  at  the 
stump." 

"  Then,  perhaps  he  bites." 

"  He  did  try  that  on,"  Jonas  admitted,  "  but  he 
won't  try  that  on  again." 

''  How  did  you  cure  him  of  biting?"  asked  the 
solicitor. 

"  I  saw  what  he  was  up  to,  when  I  was  a-grooming 
of  him.  He  tried  to  get  hold  of  my  arm.  I  was  pre- 
pared for  him.  I'd  slipped  my  arm  out  o'  my  sleeve 
and  stuffed  the  sleeve  with  knee-holm  (butcher's  broom), 
and  when  he  bit  he  got  the  prickles  into  his  mouth  so 
as  he  couldn't  shut  it  again,  but  stood  yawnin'  as  if 
sleepy  till  I  pulled  'em  out.  Clutch  and  I  has  our 
little  games  together — the  teasy  old  brute — but  I'm 
generally  too  much  for  him."  After  a  little  consider- 
ation Bideabout  added,  "  It's  only  on  the  road  I  find 
him  a  little  too  cunnin'  for  me.  Now  he's  pretendin' 
to  be  lame,  all  'long  of  his  Httle  love-affair  with  that 
gray  boss.  Sometimes  he  lies  down  in  the  middle  of 
the  road.  If  I  had  my  fowlin'  piece  I'd  shoot  off  blank 
cartridge  under  his  belly,  and  wouldn't  old  Clutch  go 
up  all  fours  into  the  air  ;  but  he  knows  well  enough  the 
gun  is  at  home.    Let  old  Clutch  alone  for  wickedness." 

''Well,  Mr.  Kink,  you  haven't  come  here  to  get  my 
assistance  against  old  Clutch,  have  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Bideabout.  ''  That's  gospel.  I  ain't 
come  here  to  tell  about  old  Clutch  ;  and  it  ain't  against 
him  as  I  want  your  assistance.  It  is  against  Iver 
Verstage,  the  painter  chap  at  Guildford." 

"  What  has  he  been  doing  ?  " 

"  Nuthin'  !  that's  just  it.  He's  made  treasurer,  trus- 
tee, or  whatever  you're  pleased  to  call  it,  for  my  baby  ; 
and  I  want  the  money  out." 

"  Out  of  his  pocket  and  into  yours  ?  " 

"  Exactly.  I  don't  see  why  I'm  to  have  all  the  nus- 
sin'  and  feedin*  and  clothin'  of  the  young  twoad,  and 
me  in  difficulties  for  money,  and  he  all  the  while  coax- 
ing up  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  and  laying  of  it 
out,  and  pocketin'  the  interest,  and  I  who  have  all  the 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE,  231 

yowls  by  night,  and  the  washin'  and  dressin*  and  feedin' 
and  all  that,  not  a  ha'penny  the  better." 

**  How  does  this  person  you*name  come  to  be  trustee 
for  the  child  ?  " 

"  Becos  his  mother  made  him  so  ;  and  that  old  idjot 
of  a  Simon  Verstage,  his  father,  goes  and  makes  the 
sum  bigger  by  addin'  fifty  pounds  to  her  hundred,  so 
now  there's  this  tidy  little  sum  lies  doin'  no  good  to 
nobody." 

"  I  cannot  help  you.  You  cannot  touch  the  principal 
till  the  child  is  of  age,  and  then  it  will  go  to  the  child, 
and  not  you." 

"  Why  !  that's  twenty-one  years  hence.  That's  what 
I  call  reg'lar  foreright  (awkward) ;  and  worse  than  fore- 
right,  it's  unreasonable.  The  child  is  that  owdacious  in 
the  cradle,  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  when  he's  of  age 
he  would  deny  me  the  money." 

"  The  interest  will  be  paid  to  you." 

"  What  is  that — perhaps  sixpence  in  the  year.  Better 
than  nuthin',  but  I  want  the  lot  of  it.  Look  you  here, 
Master  Barelegs,  I  know  very  well  that  I  owe  you 
money.  I  know  very  well  that  unless  I  can  raise  two 
hundred  pounds,  and  that  pretty  smart,  I  shall  have  to 
mortgage  my  little  bit  of  land  to  you.  I  don't  forget 
that.  But  I  daresay  you'd  rather  have  the  money  down 
than  my  poor  little  bit  of  lean  and  ribby  take  out  o' 
the  common.  You  shall  have  the  money  if  you'll  help 
me  to  get  it.  If  I  can't  get  that  money  into  my  fingers 
— I'm  a  done  man.  But  it's  not  only  that  as  troubles 
me.  It  is  that  the  Rocliffes,  and  the  Snellings,  and  the 
Boxalls,  and  Jamaica  Cheel  will  make  my  life  miserable. 
They'll  mock  at  me,  and  I  shall  be  to  them  just  as  ridic- 
'lous  an  object  as  was  Thomas  Rocliffe  after  he'd  lost 
his  Countess.  That's  twenty-three  years  agone,  and  he 
can't  get  over  it.  Up  comes  the  Countess  Charlotte  on 
every  occasion,  whenever  any  one  gets  across  with  him. 
It  will  be  the  same  with  me.  I  told  *em  all  to  their 
faces  that  I  had  got  them  into  my  power,  and  just  as 
the  net  was  about  to  snap — then  the  breaking  of  the 
bank  upset   all  my  reckonings,  and  spoiled  the  little 


232  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

game — and  what  is  worse,  has  made  me  their  sport. 
But  I  won't  stand  no  nonsense  from  old  Clutch,  nor 
will  I  from  them." 

"  I  confess  I  do  not  quite  understand  about  this 
money.     Was  it  left  by  will  ?  " 

"  Left  by  will  right  enough,"  answered  Bideabout. 
"  You  see  the  old  woman,  Sanna  Verstage,  had  a  bit 
of  property  of  her  own  when  she  married,  and  then, 
when  it  came  to  her  dyin',  she  set  to  write  a  will,  and 
wanted  to  leave  a  hundred  pounds  to  the  little  twoad. 
But  she  called  up  and  consulted  Simon,  and  he  sed, 
'  Put  on  another  fifty,  Sanna,  and  I'll  make  that  up.  I 
always  had  a  likin'  for  Matabel.'  So  that  is  how  it  came 
about  as  I've  heard,  and  a  hundred  pound  came  out  of 
her  estate,  and  Simon  made  up  the  other  fifty.  And 
for  why — but  to  spite  me,  I  dun  know,  but  they  ap- 
pointed Iver  to  be  trustee.  Now,  I'm  in  difficulties 
about  the  land.  I  reckon  when  I'm  dead  it  will  go  to 
the  little  chap,  and  go  wi'  all  the  goodness  drained  out 
of  it — acause  I  have  had  to  mortgage  it.  Whereas,  if  I 
could  touch  that  money  now,  there'd  be  nothing  of  the 
kind  happen." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,"  remarked  the  lawyer. 
*'  But  that  bequest  is  beyond  your  reach  so  long  as  the 
child  lives." 

''  What's  that  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  say  that  unless  the  poor  little  creature  should 
die,  you  cannot  finger  the  money." 

''And  if  it  did  die,  would  it  be  mine?" 

"  Of  course  it  would.  By  no  other  way  can  you  get 
it,  but,  please  Heaven,  the  child  may  grow  to  be  a 
strong  man  and  outlive  you." 

"  It's  wonderful  weakly,"  said  Jonas,  meditatively. 

"  Weakly  in  the  cradle  is  sturdy  at  the  table,"  an- 
swered the  solicitor,  slightly  altering  a  popular  maxim. 

"  It's  that  peevish  and  perverse " 

**  Then  it  takes  after  its  father,"  laughed  Mr.  Bare- 
legs.     "  You  can't  complain  of  that,  Kink." 

The  Broom-Squire  took  his  hat  and  stick  and  rose  to 
leave. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  233 

Mr.  Barelegs  stayed  him  with  a  wave  of  the  hand, 
and,  "  A  word  with  you  further,  Mr.  Kink.  You  grace- 
fully Hkened  me,  just  now,  to  your  horse  Clutch  expect- 
ing his  feed  of  oats  after  having  served  you  well.  Now 
I  admit  that,  like  Clutch,  I  have  spent  time  and  thought 
and  energy  in  your  service,  and,  like  Clutch,  I  expect 
my  feed  of  oats.  I  think  we  must  have  all  clear  and 
straight  between  us,  and  that  at  once.  I  have  made 
out  my  little  account  with  you,  and  here  it  is.  You 
will  remember  that,  acting  on  your  instructions,  I 
have  advanced  money  in  certain  transactions  that  have 
broken  down  through  the  unfortunate  turn  in  your 
affairs  caused  by  the  failure  of  the  Wealden  Bank. 
There  is  a  matter  of  two  hundred,  and  something  you 
owe  me  for  payments  made  and  for  services.  I  dare- 
say you  are  a  little  put  about  now,  but  it  will  be  useful 
to  you  to  know  all  your  liabilities  so  as  to  make  provis- 
ion for  meeting  them.  I  will  not  be  hard  on  you  as  a 
client,  but,  of  course,  you  do  not  expect  me  to  make 
you  a  present  of  my  money,  and  my  professional 
service." 

Jonas  took  the  account  reluctantly,  and  his  jaw  fell. 

"  I  dare  say,"  pursued  the  solicitor,  "  that  among 
your  neighbors  you  may  be  able  to  borrow  sufficient. 
The  Rocliffes,  your  own  kinsmen,  are,  I  fear,  not  very 
flush  with  money." 

''  Ain't  got  any  to  bless  themselves  with,"  said  Jonas. 

'*  But  the  Boxalls  are  numerous,  and  fairly  flourish- 
ing. They  have  probably  put  away  something,  and  as 
neighbors  and  friends " 

"  I've  quarrelled  with  them.  I  can't  borrow  of 
them,"  growled  Bideabout. 

"  Then  there  are  the  Snellings '* 

**  I've  offended  them  as  well." 

"  But  you  have  other  friends." 

"  I  haven't  one." 

''  There  is  Simon  Verstage,  a  warm  man  ;  he  could 
help  you  in  an  emergency." 

"  He's  never  been  the  same  with  me  since  I  married 
Matabel,  his  adopted  daughter.     He  had  other  ideas 


234  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

for  her,  I  fancy,  and  he  is  short  and  nasty  wi'  me  now. 
I  can't  ask  him." 

"  Have  you  then,  really,  no  friends  ?  " 

''  Not  one." 

"  Then  there  must  be  some  fault  in  you,  Kink.  A 
man  who  goes  through  life  without  making  friends, 
and  quarrels  even  with  the  horse  that  carries  him,  is 
not  one  who  will  leave  a  gap  when  he  passes  out  of 
the  world.  I  shall  expect  my  money.  If  you  see  no 
other  way  of  satisfying  me,  I  must  have  a  mortgage 
on  your  holding.  I'll  not  press  you  at  once — but,  Hke 
Clutch,  I  shall  want  my  feed  of  oats." 

"  Then,"  said  Jonas,  surlily,  as  he  turned  his  hat 
about,  and  looked  down  into  it,  "  I  don't  see  no  other 
chance  of  gettin'  the  money  than " 

"  Than  what  ?  " 

"  That's  my  concern,"  retorted  the  Broom-Squire. 
"  Now  I'm  goin'  to  see  whether  old  Clutch  is  ready — 
or  whether  he  be  shammin'  still." 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  235 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
THE  SLEEPING  DRAUGHT. 

Jonas  found  that  old  Clutch  was  not  lavishing 
endearments  on  the  gray  mare  over  the  intervening 
partition  of  stalls,  but  was  lying  down  on  the  straw. 
Nothing  said  or  done  would  induce  the  horse  to  rise, 
and  the  hostler  told  Bideabout  that  he  beheved  the 
beast  was  really  lame.  It  had  been  overworked  at  its 
advanced  age,  and  must  be  afforded  rest. 

''  He's  a  Radical,"  said  the  Broom-Squire.  **  You 
move  that  gray  into  another  stable  and  Clutch  will  for- 
get about  his  lameness,  I  dare  swear.  He's  twenty- 
five  and  has  a  liquorish  eye,  still — it's  shameful." 

Bideabout  was  constrained  to  walk  from  Godalming 
to  the  Punch-Bowl,  and  this  did  not  serve  to  mend  his 
humor.  He  reached  home  late  at  night,  when  the 
basin  was  full  of  darkness,  and  the  only  light  that 
showed  came  from  the  chamber  where  Mehetabel  sat 
with  her  baby. 

When  Jonas  entered,  he  saw  by  the  rushlight  that 
she  was  not  undressed,  and  heard  by  her  voice  that  she 
was  anxious. 

''  The  baby  is  very  unwell,  Jonas,"  she  said,  and  ex- 
tending her  hand,  lit  a  tallow  candle  at  the  meagre 
flame  of  the  rushlight. 

As  the  wick  flared,  so  did  something  flare  up  in  the 
face  of  the  Broom-Squire. 

''  Why  do  you  look  like  that  ?  "  asked  Mehetabel, 
for  the  look  did  not  escape  her. 

''  Main't  I  look  as  I  choose  ?  "  he  inquired  surlily. 

''  It  almost  seemed  as  if  you  were  glad  to  hear  that 
my  poor  darling  is  ill,"  complained  she. 

''Ain't  I  glad  to  be  home  after  bein'  abroad  all  day 
a-wackin',  and  abusin*  of  old  Clutch,  and  then  had  to 


236  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

walk  from  Gorlmyn  (Godalming),  and  the  aggravation 
of  knowin*  how  as  the  hoss  be  shakin'  his  sides 
laughin'  at  me  for  doin'  of  it.    Wot's  up  with  the  kid  ?  " 

"  I  really  cannot  tell,  Jonas  ;  he's  been  restless  and 
moaning  all  day.  I  have  not  been  able  to  get  him  to 
sleep,  and  I  am  sure  he  has  had  one  or  two  fits.  He 
became  white  and  stiff.  I  thought  he'd  a-died,  and 
then  my  heartstrings  were  like  breaking." 

"  Oh,  drat  your  heartstrings,  I  don't  care  to  hear  of 
them.  So,  you  thort  he  was  dyin'.  Perhaps  he  may. 
More  wun'erful  things  happen  than  that.  It's  the  way 
of  half  the  babies  as  is  born." 

"  It  will  kill  me  if  mine  is  taken  from  me  ! "  cried 
Mehetabel,  and  cast  herself  on  her  knees  and  embraced 
the  cradle,  regardless  of  the  sprigs  of  spiked  leaves  she 
had  stuck  round  it,  and  burst  into  an  agony  of  tears. 

"  Now  look  here,"  said  Jonas ;  *'  I've  been  tried 
enough  wi'  old  Clutch  to-day,  and  I  don't  want  to  be 
worreted  at  night  wi'  you.  Let  the  baby  sleep  if  it  is 
sleepin',  and  get  me  my  vittles.  There's  others  to  at- 
tend to  in  the  world  than  squawlin'  brats.  It's  spoilin' 
the  child  you  are.  That's  what  is  the  meanin'  of  its 
goings-on.  Leave  it  alone,  and  take  no  notice,  and  it'll 
find  out  quick  enough  that  squeals  don't  pay.  I 
want  my  supper.     Go  after  the  vittles." 

Mehetabel  lay  in  her  clothes  that  night.  The  child 
continued  to  be  restless  and  fretted.  Jonas  was  angry. 
If  he  was  out  all  day  he  expected  to  rest  well  at  night ; 
and  she  carried  the  cradle  in  her  arms  into  the  spare 
room,  where  the  peevishness  of  the  child,  and  the 
rocking  and  her  lullaby  could  not  disturb  her  husband. 
As  she  bore  the  cradle,  the  sprigs  of  butcher's  broom 
and  withered  chrysanthemums  fell  and  strewed  her 
path,  leaving  behind  her  a  trail  of  dying  flowers,  and 
of  piercing  thorns,  and  berries  like  blood-drops. 

No  word  of  sympathy  had  the  Broom-Squire  ut- 
tered ;  no  token  had  he  shown  that  he  regarded  her 
woes  and  Was  solicitous  for  the  welfare  of  his  child. 
Mehetabel  asked  for  neither.  She  had  learned  to  ex- 
pect nothing  from  him,  and  she  had  ceased  to  dertiand 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  237 

of  him  what  he  was  incapable  of  giving,  or  unwilling 
to  show. 

Next  morning  Mehetabel  was  prompt  to  prepare 
breakfast  for  her  husband.  The  day  was  fine,  but  the 
light  streaming  in  through  the  window  served  to  show 
how  jaded  she  was  with  long  watching,  with  constant 
attention,  and  with  harrowing  care. 

Always  punctilious  to  be  neat,  she  had  smoothed  her 
hair,  tidied  her  dress,  and  washed  the  tears  from  her 
face,  but  she  could  not  give  brightness  to  the  dulled 
eye  or  bloom  to  the  worn  cheek. 

For  a  while  the  child  was  quiet,  stupefied  with  weari- 
ness and  long  crying.  By  the  early  light  Mehetabel 
had  studied  the  little  face,  hungering  after  tokens  of 
recovering  powers,  glad  that  the  drawn  features  were 
relaxed  temporarily. 

"  Where  are  you  going  to-day,  Bideabout  ? "  she 
asked,  timidly,  expecting  a  rebuff. 

"Why  do  you  ask?"  was  his  churlish  answer. 

**  Because — oh  !  if  I  might  have  a  doctor  for  baby  !  " 

"A  doctor!"  he  retorted.  ''Are  we  princes  and 
princesses,  that  we  can  afford  that  ?  There's  no  doctor 
nigher  than  Hazelmere,  and  I  ain't  goin'  there.  I  sup- 
pose cos  you  wos  given  the  name  of  a  Duchess  of 
Edom,  you've  got  these  expensive  ideas  in  your  head. 
Wot's  the  good  of  doctors  to  babies  ?  Babies  can't 
say  what  ails  them." 

"  If— if — "  began  Mehetabel,  kindly,  *'  if  I  might 
have  a  doctor,  and  pay  for  it  out  of  that  fifteen  pound 
that  father  let  me  have." 

*'  That  fifteen  pound  ain't  no  longer  yours.  And  this 
be  fine  game,  throwin'  money  away  on  doctors  when 
we're  on  the  brink  of  ruin.  Don't  you  know  as  how 
the  bank  has  failed,  and  all  my  money  gone  ?  The  fif- 
teen pound  is  gone  with  the  rest." 

"■  If  you  had  but  allowed  me  to  keep  it,  it  would  not 
have  been  lost  now,",  said  Mehetabel. 

''  I  ain't  goin'  to  have  no  doctors  here,"  said  Bide- 
about,  positively,  ''but  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  and 
that's  about  as  much  as  can  be  expected  in  reason. 


238  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

I'm  goin'  to  Gorlmyn  to  fetch  old  Clutch ;  and  I'll  see 
a  surgeon  there  and  tell  him  whatever  you  like — and 
get  a  mixture  for  the  child.  But  I  won't  pay  more 
than  half-a-crown,  and  that's  wasted.  I  don't  believe 
in  doctors  and  their  paint  and  water,  as  they  gives  us." 

Jonas  departed,  and  then  the  tired  and  anxious 
mother  again  turned  to  her  child.  The  face  was  white 
spotted  with  crimson,  the  closed  lids  blue. 

There  was  no  certainty  when  Bideabout  would  re- 
turn, but  assuredly  not  before  evening,  as  he  walked 
to  Godalming,  and  if  he  rode  home  on  the  lame  horse, 
the  pace  would  be  slower  than  a  walk. 

Surely  she  could  obtain  advice  and  help  from  some 
of  the  mothers  in  the  Punch-Bowl.  Sally  Rocliffe  she 
would  not  consult.  The  gleam  of  kindness  that  had 
shone  out  of  her  when  Mehetabel  was  in  her  trouble 
had  long  ago  been  quenched. 

When  the  babe  woke  she  muffled  it  in  her  shawl  and 
carried  the  mite  to  the  cottage  of  the  Boxalls.  The 
woman  of  that  family,  dark-skinned  and  gypsy-like, 
with  keen  black  eyes,  was  within,  and  received  the 
young  mother  graciously.  Mehetabel  unfolded  her 
treasure  and  laid  it  on  her  knees — the  child  was  now 
quiet,  through  exhaustion. 

"  I'll  tell  y'  what  I  think,"  said  Karon  Boxall,  "  that 
child  has  been  overlooked — ill-wished." 

Mehetabel  opened  her  eyes  wide  with  terror. 

"  That's  just  about  the  long  and  short  of  it,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Boxall.  "  Do  you  see  that  little  vein 
there,  the  color  of  'urts.  That's  a  sure  sign.  Some 
one  bears  the  poor  creature  no  love,  and  has  cast  an 
evil  eye  on  it." 

The  unhappy  mother's  blood  ran  chill.  This,  which 
to  us  seems  ridiculous  and  empty,  was  a  grave  and  ter- 
rible reality  to  her  mind. 

''Who  has  done  it?  "  she  asked  below  her  breath. 

"  That's  not  for  me  to  say,"  answered  the  woman. 
"  It  is  some  one  who  doesn't  love  the  babe,  that's  sure." 
-   "  A  man  or  a  woman  ?  " 
•    Mrs.  Boxall  stooped  over  the  infant.   , 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  239 

"A  woman/'  she  said,  with  assurance.  **The  dark 
vein  be  on  the  left  han'  side." 

Mehetabel's  thoughts  ran  to  Sally  Rocliffe.  There 
was  no  other  woman  who  could  have  felt  ill-feeling 
against  the  hapless  infant,  now  on  her  lap. 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  There's  nothin'.  Misfortune  and  wastin'  away  will 
be  to  the  child — though  they  do  say,  if  you  was  to 
take  it  to  Thor's  Stone,  and  carry  it  thrice  round,  way 
of  the  sun,  you  might  cast  off  the  ill-wish.  But  I  can't 
say.     I  never  tried  it." 

"  I  cannot  take  it  there,"  cried  Mehetabel,  despair- 
ingly, "the  weather  is  too  cold,  baby  too  ill." 

Then  clasping  the  child  to  her  bosom,  and  sway- 
ing herself,  she  sobbed  forth — 

"  A  little  fish  swims  in  the  well, 
So  in  my  heart  does  baby  dwell, 
The  king  has  sceptre,  crown  and  ball. 
You  are  my  sceptre,  crown  and  all." 

She  went  home  sobbing,  and  hugging  her  child,  hold- 
ing it  away  from  the  house  of  Sarah  Rocliffe,  lest  that 
woman  might  be  looking  forth  at  her  window,  and 
deepen  by  her  glance  the  spell  that  held  and  broke 
down  her  child. 

Towards  evening  fall  Jonas  returned. 

Directly  he  crossed  the  threshold,  with  palpitating 
eagerness  Mehetabel  asked, 

"Have  you  seen  the  doctor?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  curtly. 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  He'd  got  a  pass'l  o'  learned  names  of  maladies — 
I  can't  recollect  them  all.     Tain't  like  as  I  should." 

"  But — did  he  give  you  any  medicine  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  had  to  pay  for  it  too." 

"  Oh,  Jonas,  do  give  it  me,  and  tell  me,  are  you  quite 
sure  you  explained  to  him  exactly  what  ailed  baby  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  I  did." 

"  And  the. bottle,  Jonas ?" 

"  Don't  be  in  such  a  won'erful  hurry,  I've  other 
things  to  do  than. get  that  out  yet.   How  is  the  Qhild?" 


240  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

"  Rather  better." 

"  Better  !  "  he  echoed,  and  Mehetabel,  who  looked 
intently  in  his  face,  saw  no  sign  of  satisfaction,  rather 
of  disappointment. 

"  Oh,  Jonas  !  "  she  cried,  "  is  it  naught  to  you  that 
baby  is  so  ill  ?     You  surely  don't  want  him  to  die  ?  " 

He  turned  fiercely  on  her,  his  face  hard  and  gray, 
and  his  teeth  shining — 

"  What  makes  you  say  that — you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothin*,  Jonas,  only  you  don't  seem  to  care  a 
bit  about  baby,  and  rather  to  have  a  delight  in  his  bein' 
so  ill."  ^ 

**  He's  better,  you  say?" 

*'  Yes— I  really  do  think  it." 

There  was  an  unpleasant  expression  in  his  face  that 
frightened  her.  Was  it  the  eye  of  Jonas  that  had 
blighted  the  child  ?  But  no — Karon  Boxall  had  said 
that  it  was  ill-wished  by  a  woman.  Jonas  left  the  room, 
ascended  the  stairs,  and  strode  about  in  the  chamber 
overhead. 

Swaying  in  her  chair,  holding  the  infant  to  her  heart, 
the  sole  heart  that  loved  it,  but  loved  it  with  a  love  in- 
effable, she  heard  her  husband  open  the  window,  and 
then  hastily  shut  it  again.  Then  there  was  a  pause  in 
his  movement  overhead,  and  he  came  shortly  after 
down  the  stairs.  He  held  a  phial  in  his  hand — and 
without  looking  at  Mehetabel,  thrust  it  towards  her, 
with  the  curt  injunction,  "  Take." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  young  mother,  "  as  my  darling 
is  better,  I  need  not  give  him  the  medicine." 

"  That's  just  like  your  ways,"  exclaimed  the  Broom- 
Squire,  savagely.  '*  Fust  I  get  no  rest  till  I  promise  to 
go  to  the  doctor,  and  then  when  I've  put  myself  about 
to  go,  and  bring  the  bottle  as  has  cost  me  half-a-crown, 
you  won't  have  it." 

"  Indeed — it  is  only— - — " 
.  "  Oh,  yes — only — to  annoy  me.     The  child  is  ilL     I 
told  the  doctor  all,  and  he  said  that  this  would  set"  it 
to.  rights  and  give  it  sleep,  and  rest  to  all  of  us."    He 
was  in.  a  bad  temper.     Mehetabel  did  not  venture  to 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  241 

say  more.     She  took  the  phial  and  placed  it  on  the 
table.     It  was  not  wrapped  up  in  paper. 

Then  Jonas  hastily  went  Corth.  He  had  old  Clutch 
to  attend  to. 

Mehetabel  remained  alone,  and  looked  at  the  medi- 
cine bottle ;  then  she  laid  the  infant  on  her  knees  and 
studied  the  little  face,  so  blanched  with  dark  rings 
round  the  eyes.  The  tiny  hands  were  drawn  up  on 
the  breast  and  clasped  ;  she  unfolded  and  kissed  them. 

Then  she  looked  again  at  the  phial. 

There  was  something  strange  about  it.  The  con- 
tents did  not  appear  to  have  been  well  mixed,  the  up- 
per portion  of  the  fluid  was  dark,  the  lower  portion 
white.  How  came  this  about?  Jonas  had  ridden  old 
Clutch  home,  and  the  movements  of  the  horse  were 
not  smooth.  The  bottle  in  the  pocket  of  Bideabout 
must  have  undergone  such  shaking  as  would  have  made 
the  fluid  contents  homogeneous  and  of  one  hue.  She 
held  the  bottle  between  herself  and  the  light.  There 
was  no  doubt  about  it,  either  the  liquid  separated  rap- 
idly, or  had  never  been  mixed. 

She  withdrew  the  cork  and  applied  the  mouth  of 
the  phial  to  her  nose. 

The  scent  of  the  medicine  was  familiar.  It  was  pe- 
culiar. When  had  she  smelt  that  odor  before.  Then 
she  started.  She  remembered  the  little  bottle  contain- 
ing laudanum,  with  the  death's  head  on  it,  in  the  closet 
upstairs. 

Hastily,  her  heart  beating  with  apprehension,  she 
laid  her  babe  in  the  cradle,  and  taking  the  light, 
mounted  to  the  upper  chamber.  She  possessed  the 
key  of  the  cabinet  in  the  wall.  She  had  retained  it 
because  afraid  to  give  it  up,  and  Jonas  had  manufac- 
tured for  himself  a  fresh  key. 

Now  she  unlocked  the  closet,  and  at  once  discovered 
the  laudanum  bottle. 

It  was  half  empty. 

Some  of  it  had  been  used. 

How  had  it  been  used  ?   Of  that  she  had  little  doubt. 
The  dangerous,  sleep-bringing  laudanum  had  been  put 
16 


H2  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

into  the  medicine  for  the  child.  It  was  to  make  room 
for  that  that  Jonas  had  opened  the  window  and  poured 
forth  some  of  the  contents. 

A  drop  still  hung  on  the  top  of  the  phial. 

She  shut  and  relocked  the  cupboard,  descended, 
with  dismay,  despair  in  her  heart,  and  taking  the  bottle 
from  the  table,  dashed  it  into  the  fire  upon  the  hearth. 
Then  she  caught  her  babe  to  her,  and  through  floods  of 
tears,  sobbed  :  "  There  is  none  love  thee  but  I — but  I 
— but  only  I  !  O,  my  babe,  my  babe  !  My  sceptre, 
crown,  and  all !  " 

In  the  blinding  rain  of  tears,  in  the  tumult  of  passion 
that  obscured  her  eyes,  that  confused  her  brain,  Mehet- 
abel  saw,  heard  nothing.  She  had  but  one  sense — 
that  of  feeling,  that  thrilled  through  one  fibre  only 
attached  to  the  helpless,  suffering  morsel  in  her  arms 
— the  infant  she  held  to  her  breast,  and  which  she 
would  have  liked  to  bury  in  her  heart  away  from  all 
danger,  concealed  from  the  malevolent  eye,  and  the 
murderous  hand. 

All  the  mother's  nature  in  her  was  roused  and  flared 
into  madness.  She  alone  loved  this  little  creature,  she 
alone  stood  between  it  and  destruction.  She  would 
fight  for  it,  defend  it  to  her  last  breath,  with  every 
weapon  wherewith  she  was  endowed  by  nature. 

After  the  first  paroxysm  of  passion  was  passed,  and 
a  lull  of  exhaustion  ensued,  she  looked  up,  and  saw 
Bideabout  enter,  and  as  he  entered  he  cast  a  furtive 
glance  at  the  table,  then  at  the  child. 

In  a  moment  she  resolved  on  the  course  she  should 
adopt. 

**  Have  you  given  the  babe  the  draught  ?  "  he  asked, 
with  averted  face. 

"  Not  all." 

"Of  course,  not  all." 

"  Will  it  make  baby  sleep  ?  "  asked  Mehetabel. 

"  O,  sleep — sleep  !  yes — we  shall  have  rest  for  one 
night — for  many,  I  trust.  O,  do  not  doubt.  It  will 
make  it  sleep !  '* 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  243 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 
A  MENACED  LIFE. 

As  soon  as  the  Broom-Squire  had  gone  out  again  to 
the  "  hog-pen,"  as  a  pigstye  is  called  in  Surrey,  to  give 
the  pig  its  "  randams  and  crammins,"  because  Mehet- 
abel  was  unable  to  do  this  because  unable  to  leave  the 
child,  then  she  knelt  by  the  hearth,  put  aside  the 
turves,  and,  regardless  of  the  fire,  groped  for  the  frag- 
ments of  the  broken  phial,  that  nothing  might  betray 
to  Bideabout  her  having  rejected  the  medicine  with 
which  he  had  tampered. 

She  cut  and  burnt  her  fingers,  but  in  the  excitement 
of  her  feelings,  was  insensible  to  pain. 

She  had  removed  and  secreted  the  glass  before  he 
returned.     The  babe  was  sleeping  heavily,  and  snoring. 

When  Jonas  came  in  and  heard  the  sound  from  the 
cradle,  a  look  of  expectation  came  over  his  face. 

"  The  child's  burrin'  like  a  puckeridge  (night-jar)," 
he  said.  "  Shouldn't  wonder  if  the  medicine  ain't  done 
him  a  lot  o*  good.  It  don't  need  a  doctor  to  come  and 
see  to  prescribe  for  a  baby.  All  that  little  ones  want 
is  good  sleep,  and  natur*  does  the  rest." 

Owing  to  the  annoyance  caused  to  Bideabout  by 
the  child's  fretfulness  during  the  night,  Mehetabel 
occupied  a  separate  chamber,  the  spare  bedroom,  along 
with  her  babe,  and  spent  her  broken  nights  under  the 
great  blue  and  white  striped  tent  that  covered  the  bed. 

She  had  enjoyed  but  little  sleep  for  several  nights, 
and  her  days  had  been  occupied  by  the  necessary 
attention  to  the  suffering  child  and  the  cares  of  the 
household.  Because  the  babe  was  ill,  that  was  no 
reason  why  his  father's  meals  should  be  neglected,  and 
because  the  mother  was  overwrought,  he  was  not  dis- 


144  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

posed  to  relieve  her  of  the  duties  to  the  pigs  and  cows 
save  on  this  one  occasion. 

That  the  poor  little  infant  was  really  more  at  ease 
was  obvious  to  the  mother's  watchful  eye  and  anxious 
heart,  but  whether  this  were  due  to  its  malady,  what- 
ever that  was,  having  taken  a  felicitous  turn,  or  to 
mere  exhaustion  of  powers,  she  was  unable  to  decide, 
and  her  fears  almost  overbalanced  her  hopes. 

She  retired  to  sleep  that  night  without  much  expec- 
tation of  being  able  to  obtain  sleep.  Her  nerves  were 
overstrung,  and  at  times  thought  in  her  mind  came  to 
a  standstill ;  it  was  as  though  a  sudden  hush  came  on 
all  within  her,  so  that  neither  did  heart  beat  nor  breath 
come.  But  for  these  pauses,  her  mind  might  have 
given  way,  a  string  have  snapped,  and  her  faculties 
have  fallen  into  disorder. 

It  is  said  of  Talleyrand  that  he  needed  no  sleep,  as 
his  pulse  ceased  to  beat  after  a  certain  number  of 
strokes,  for  a  brief  space,  and  then  resumed  pulsation. 
During  that  pause,  his  physical  and  mental  powers  had 
time  for  recuperation.  Be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  certain 
that  to  some  persons  whose  minds  and  feelings  are  put 
to  extraordinary  tension,  greatly  prolonged,  there  do 
come  these  halts  in  which  all  is  blank,  the  brain  ceases 
to  think,  and  the  heart  to  feel,  and  such  gaps  in  the 
sequence  of  thought  and  emotion  have  a  salutary  effect. 

Mehetabel  did  not  undress.  She  had  not  put  off 
her  clothing  for  several  nights.  The  night  was  cold, 
and  she  would  probably  have  to  be  incessantly  on  the 
move,  to  meet  the  little  sufferer's  necessities,  as  they 
arose,  and  to  watch  it,  whenever  her  fears  prevailed 
over  her  hopes,  and  made  her  think  that  a  protracted 
quiet  was  ominous. 

The  only  light  in  the  room  emanated  from  a  smoul- 
dering rush,  sustained  in  a  tall  iron  holder,  the  lower 
end  of  which  was  planted  in  a  block  of  oak,  and  stood 
on  the  floor.  Such  holders,  now  become  very  scarce, 
were  furnished  with  snuffers,  so  contrived  that  the  rush- 
light had  to  be  taken  out  of  its  socket  and  snuffed 
by  them,  instead  of  their  being  brought  to  the  rush. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  245 

Of  rushlights  there  were  two  kinds,  one,  the  simplest, 
consisted  of  a  dry  rush  dipped  in  a  little  grease.  The 
light  emitted  from  such  a  candle  was  feeble  in  the  ex- 
treme. The  second,  a  superior  rushlight,  had  the  rush 
pealed  of  its  bark  with  the  exception  of  one  small  strip 
which  held  the  pith  from  breaking.  This  pith  was 
dipped  in  boiling  fat,  and  when  the  tallow  had  con- 
densed it  was  dipped  again,  and  the  candle  given  as 
many  coats  as  was  desired.  Such  a  rushlight  was  a  far 
more  useful  candle,  and  if  it  did  not  emit  as  large  a  flame 
and  give  forth  so  much  light  as  a  dip  which  had  a 
cotton  wick  it  was  sufficient  to  serve  most  purposes  for 
which  in  a  farmhouse  artificial  illumination  was  required. 

The  first  and  inferior  sort  of  rushlight  was  that  which 
Matabel  allowed  herself  for  the  sick-room. 

When  she  laid  her  head  on  the  pillow  and  threw  the 
patched-work  quilt  over  her  shoulders  the  cool  of  the 
pillow  struck  through  her  head  and  relieved  the  fire 
that  had  raged  therein. 

She  could  not  sleep. 

She  thought  over  what  had  happened.  She  con- 
sidered Bideabout's  action  as  calmly  as  possible.  Was 
it  conceivable  that  he  should  seek  the  life  of  his  own 
child  ?  He  had  shown  it  no  love,  but  it  was  a  far  cry 
from  lack  of  parental  affection  to  deliberate  attempt  at 
murder. 

What  gain  would  there  be  to  him  in  the  death  of  his 
child  ?  She  was  too  innocent  and  simple  to  think  of 
Mrs.  Verstage's  bequest  as  supplying  the  motive.  As 
far  as  she  could  find  there  was  nothing  to  account  for 
Jonas'  desire  to  hasten  the  child's  death  save  weari- 
ness at  its  cries  which  distressed  him  at  night,  and  this 
was  no  adequate  reason.  There  was  another,  but  that 
she  put  from  her  in  disgust.  Bad  as  Bideabout  might 
be  she  could  not  credit  him  with  that. 

What  was  that  bottle  which  Jonas  had  been  given 
by  the  doctor  when  his  arm  was  bound  up  ?  Of 
laudanum  she  knew  nothing,  but  remembered  that  it 
had  been  recommended  as  a  means  for  giving  him  the 
rest  he  so  required.     It  was  a  medicine  intended  to 


246  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

produce  sleep.  He  had  refused  it  because  afraid  lest 
he  should  administer  to  himself,  or  have  administered 
to  him,  an  overdose  which  would  cause  him  to  sleep 
too  soundly,  and  slide  away  into  the  slumber  of  death. 

It  was  possible  that  the  surgeon  at  Godalming  knew 
that  Jonas  possessed  this  phial,  and  had  given  him  the 
medicine  for  the  child  along  with  instructions  as  to  how 
many  drops  of  the  laudanum  he  was  to  add  to  the 
mixture,  to  make  it  serve  its  proper  purpose. 

If  that  were  so,  then  the  Broom-Squire  had  acted  as 
directed  by  a  competent  person  and  for  the  good  of 
his  child,  and  she,  his  wife,  had  cruelly,  wickedly,  mis- 
judged him.  Gentle,  generous,  incapable  of  harboring 
an  evil  thought,  Matabel  at  once  and  with  avidity  seized 
on  this  solution,  and  applied  it  to  her  heart  to  ease  its 
pain  and  relieve  the  pressure  that  weighed  on  it. 

Under  the  lightening  of  her  anxiety  caused  by  this 
Mehetabel  fell  asleep,  for  how  long  she  was  unable  to 
guess.  When  she  awoke  it  was  not  that  she  heard  the 
cry  of  her  child,  but  that  she  was  aware  of  a  tread  on 
the  floor  that  made  the  bed  vibrate. 

Instead  of  starting  up,  she  unclosed  her  eyes,  and 
saw  in  the  room  a  figure  that  she  at  once  knew  was 
that  of  Jonas.  He  was  barefooted,  and  but  partially 
dressed.  He  had  softly  unhasped  the  door  and  stolen 
in  on  tip-toe.  Mehetabel  was  surprised.  It  was  not 
his  wont  to  leave  his  bed  at  night,  certainly  not  for  any 
concern  he  felt  relative  to  the  child ;  yet  now  he  was 
by  the  cradle,  and  was  stooping  over  it  with  his  head 
turned,  so  that  his  ear  was  applied  in  a  manner  that 
showed  he  was  listening  to  the  child's  breathing.  As 
his  face  was  turned  the  feeble  light  of  the  smouldering 
rushlight  was  on  it. 

Mehetabel  did  not  stir.  It  was  a  pleasing  revelation 
to  her  that  the  father's  heart  had  warmed  to  his  child, 
and  that  he  was  sufficiently  solicitous  for  the  feeble 
life  to  be  disturbed  thereby  at  night. 

Jonas  remained  listening  for  a  minute,  then  he  rose 
erect  and  retreated  from  the  chamber  on  tiptoe  and 
closed  the  door  noiselessly  behind  him. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  247 

A  smile  of  pleasure  came  on  Mehetabel's  lips,  the 
first  that  had  creamed  them  for  many  a  week,  and  she 
slipped  away  again  into  sleep,  to  be  aroused  after  a 
brief  period  by  the  restlessness  and  exclamations  of  the 
child  that  woke  with  hunger. 

Then  promptly  she  rose  up,  went  to  the  cradle,  and 
lifted  the  child  out,  coaxed  it  and  sang  to  the  infant  as 
she  seated  herself  on  the  bedside  nursing  it. 

As  she  swayed  herself,  holding  the  child,  the  door 
that  was  ajar  opened  slightly,  and  by  the  feeble  light 
of  the  rush  she  could  discern  something  without,  and 
the  flame  was  reflected  in  human  eyes. 

"  Is  that  you,  Jonas?"  she  called. 

There  was  no  reply,  but  she  could  hear  soft  steps 
withdrawing  in  the  direction  of  his  room. 

"  He  is  ashamed  of  letting  me  see  how  anxious  he 
is,  how  really  fond  of  the  poor  pet  he  is  in  heart."  As 
the  child's  hands  relaxed,  and  it  sobbed  off  to  sleep, 
Mehetabel  laid  it  again  in  the  cradle.  It  was  abun- 
dantly evident  that  the  infant  was  getting  better.  In  a 
couple  of  days,  doubtless,  it  would  be  well. 

Glad  of  this,  relieved  of  the  care  that  had  gnawed 
at  her  heart,  she  now  slipped  between  the  sheets  of  the 
bed.  The  babe  would  probably  sleep  on  till  dawn,  and 
she  could  herself  enjoy  much-needed  rest. 

Then  she  dreamt  that  she  and  her  little  one  were  in 
a  fair  garden  full  of  flowers  ;  the  child  had  grown  some- 
what and  could  enjoy  play.  She  thought  that  she  was 
plucking  violets  and  making  a  crown  for  her  baby's 
head,  and  then  a  little  staff  covered  with  the  same 
purple,  fragrant  flowers,  to  serve  as  sceptre,  and  that 
she  approached  her  little  one  on  her  knees,  and  bent 
to  it,  and  sang  : — 

"  The  king  has  sceptre,  crown  and  ball, 
You  are  my  sceptre,  crown,  and  all !  " 

But  then  there  fell  a  shadow  on  them,  and  this  shadow 
cut  off  all  light  from  her  and  from  her  child.  She 
looked  and  saw  Jonas.  He  said  nothing,  but  stood 
where  the  sun  shone  and  he  could  obscure  it. 


J48  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

She  lifted  her  babe  and  moved  it  away  from  the 
blighting  shadow  into  warmth  and  brightness  once 
more.  Yet  was  this  but  for  a  moment,  as  again  the 
shadow  of  Jonas  fell  over  them.  Once  more  she 
moved  the  child,  but  with  like  result.  Then  with  a 
great  effort  she  rose  from  her  knees,  carrying  the  child 
to  go  away  with  it,  far,  far  from  Jonas — and  in  her 
effort  to  do  so  woke. 

She  woke  to  see  by  the  expiring  rush-candle  and  the 
raw  light  of  early  dawn,  that  the  Broom-Squire  was  in 
the  room,  and  was  stooping  over  the  cradle.  Still 
drunk  with  sleep,  she  did  not  stir,  did  not  rally  her 
senses  at  once. 

Then  she  beheld  how  he  lifted  the  pillow  from  under 
the  infant's  head,  went  down  on  his  knees,  and  thrust 
the  pillow  in  upon  the  child's  face,  holding  it  down 
resolutely  with  a  hand  on  each  side. 

With  a  shriek  of  horror,  Mehetabcl  sprang  out  of  bed 
and  rushed  at  him,  stayed  his  arms,  and  unable  to  thrust 
them  back,  caught  the  cradle  and  plucked  it  to  her,  and 
released  the  babe,  that  gasped — seized  it  in  her  arms, 
glued  it  to  her  bosom,  and  dashing  past  Jonas  before 
he  had  risen  to  his  feet,  ran  down  the  stairs,  and  left 
the  house — never  to  enter  it  again. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  249 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

SHUT  OUT. 

A  RAW  gray  morning. 

Mehetabel  had  run  forth  into  it  with  nothing  over 
her  head,  no  shawl  about  her  shoulders,  with  hair 
tangled,  and  eyes  dazed,  holding  her  child  to  her  heart, 
with  full  resolve  never  again  to  set  foot  across  the 
threshold  of  the  farmhouse  of  Jonas  Kink. 

No  doubt  whatever  remained  now  in  her  mind  that 
the  Broom-Squire  had  endeavored  to  compass  the  death 
of  his  child,  first  by  means  of  poison,  and  then  by  suf- 
focation. 

Nothing  would  ever  induce  her  again  to  risk  the  pre- 
cious life  of  her  child  at  his  hands.  She  had  no  thought 
whither  she  should  go,  how  she  should  live — her  sole 
thought  was  to  escape  from  Jonas,  and  by  putting 
a  distance  between  herself  and  him,  place  the  infant 
beyond  danger. 

As  she  ran  up  the  lane  from  the  house  she  encoun- 
tered Sally  Rocliffe  at  the  well  head. 

"  Where  be  you  goyne  to,  like  that ;  and  with  the 
child,  too?  "  asked  the  woman. 

Mehetabel  drew  the  little  face  of  the  babe  to  her, 
lest  the  eye  of  its  aunt  should  light  on  it.  She  could 
not  speak,  palpitating  with  fear,  as  she  was. 

"  What  be  you  runnin'  out  for  this  time  o'  the 
mornin*?"  asked  Mrs.  Rocliffe  again. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,"  gasped  the  mother. 

"  But  I  will  know." 

"  I  shall  never,  never  go  back  again,"  cried  Mehetabel. 

"  Oh !  he's  kicked  you  out,  has  he  ?  That's  like 
Jonas." 

"  I'm  runnin'  away. 


2  50  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

"  And  where  be  yo  goyne  to  ?  " 

"I  don't  know." 

"  But  I  do,'*  said  Mrs.  Rocliffe  with  a  chuckle. 

Mehetabel  gave  no  thought  to  her  words.  She  thrust 
past  her,  and  ran  on. 

Fear,  love,  gave  strength  to  her  limbs.  She  had  no 
consideration  for  herself,  that  she  was  dishevelled  and 
incompletely  clad,  that  she  had  eaten  nothing  ;  she 
sped  up  the  side  of  the  Common,  to  escape  from  the 
Punch-Bowl,  the  place  where  she  had  weltered  in 
misery.  There  was  no  hope  for  her  and  her  child  till 
she  had  escaped  from  that. 

In  the  cold  air,  charged  with  moisture,  the  larks  were 
singing.  A  ploughboy  was  driving  his  horses  to  the 
field  that  was  to  be  turned  up  by  the  share. 

As  she  passed  him  he  stared  at  her  with  surprise. 
She  reached  the  village.  The  blacksmith  was  up  and 
about  ;  he  was  preparing  to  put  a  tire  on  a  cart-wheel. 
For  this  purpose  he  had  just  kindled  a  fire  of  turf 
"  bats,"  that  were  heaped  round  the  fire  on  the  ground 
outside  the  forge.  He  looked  up  with  astonishment 
as  Mehetabel  sped  past,  and  cast  to  her  the  question, 
"  Wot's  up?"  which,  however,  she  did  not  stay  to 
answer. 

She  made  no  tarry  till  she  reached  the  Ship  Inn. 
There  she  entered  the  porch,  and  would  have  gone 
through  the  door  into  the  house,  had  she  not  been 
confronted  by  Polly,  the  maid,  who  at  that  moment 
was  coming  up  the  passage  from  the  bar. 

Polly  made  no  attempt  to  give  room  for  Mehetabel 
to  pass ;  she  saluted  her  with  a  stare  and  a  look  at  her 
from  head  to  feet,  full  of  insolence. 

''  Wot  do  you  want  ?  "  asked  the  girl. 

*'  I  wish  to  see  and  speak  to  father,"  answered 
Mehetabel. 

"  I  always  heard  as  your  father  lies  in  Thursley 
Churchyard,"  answered  the  servant. 

"  I  mean  I  should  like  to  speak  with  Mr.  Verstage." 

"  Oh  !  the  landlord  ?  " 

''Yes  ;  the  landlord.     Where  is  he  ?  " 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  251 

"  Don*  know.     Somewhere  about,  I  reckon." 

"  It  is  cold,  and  my  child  is  ill.  I  would  go  into  the 
kitchen,  by  the  fire." 

"Why  don't  you  then  go  home  ?" 

'*  I  have  no  home." 

''  Oh  !  it's  come  to  that,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Let  me  in." 

"  No,  indeed.  This  ain't  the  place  for  you.  If  you 
think  you're  goyne  to  be  mistress  and  order  about  here 
you're  mistaken.  You  go  along ;  I'm  goyne  to  shut 
the  door." 

Mehetabel  had  not  the  spirit  to  resent  this  insolence. 

She  turned  in  the  porch  and  left  the  inn,  that  had 
once  been  her  home,  and  the  only  home  in  which  she 
had  found  happiness. 

She  made  her  way  to  the  fields  that  belonged  to 
Simon  Verstage,  and  after  wandering  through  a 
ploughed  glebe  she  found  him. 

"  Ah,  Matabel !  "  said  he,  "  glad  to  see  you.  What 
brings  you  here  so  early  in  the  day  ?  " 

"  Dear  father,  I  cannot  tell  you  all,  but  I  have  left 
Bideabout.  I  can  stay  with  him  no  longer,  something 
has  happened.  Do  not  press  me  to  tell — at  least  not 
now.  I  can  never  return  to  the  Punch-Bowl.  Will 
you  take  me  in  ?  " 

The  old  man  mused. 

"  I'll  consult  Polly.  .  I  don't  know  what  she'll  say  to 
it.  I'm  rather  dependent  on  her  now.  You  see,  I 
know  nothing  of  the  house.  I  always  put  that  into 
Susanna's  charge,  and  now  poor  Sanna  is  gone,  Polly 
has  taken  the  management.  Of  course,  she  makes 
mistakes,  but  wun'erfully  few.  In  fact,  it  is  wun'erful 
how  she  fits  into  Sanna's  place,  and  manages  the  house 
and  all — just  as  if  she  had  been  brought  up  to  it.  I'll 
go  and  ask  her.  I  couldn't  say  yes  without,  much  as  I 
might  wish." 

Mehetabel  shook  her  head. 

The  old  man  was  become  feeble  and  dependent.  He 
had  no  longer  a  will  of  his  own. 

''  I  will  not  trouble  you,  dear  father,  to  ask  Polly.     I 


252  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

am  quite  sure  what  her  answer  will  be.  I  must  go 
further.     Who  is  Guardian  ?  " 

"  That's  Timothy  Puttenham,  the  wheelwright.'* 

Then  Mehetabel  turned  back  in  the  direction  of  the 
village  and  came  in  front  of  the  shop.  Puttenham  and 
his  apprentice  were  engaged  on  the  fire,  and  Mehet- 
abel stood,  with  the  babe  folded  in  her  arms,  watching 
them  at  work.  They  might  not  be  disturbed  at  the 
critical  period  when  the  tire  was  red  hot  and  had  to  be 
fitted  to  the  wheel. 

A  circle  of  flame  and  glowing  ashes  and  red-hot  iron 
was  on  the  ground.  At  a  little  distance  lay  a  flat  iron 
disc,  called  the  "  platform  "  ;  with  a  pole  in  the  centre 
through  which  ran  a  spindle.  On  this  metal  plate  lay 
a  new  cast  wheel,  and  the  wright  with  a  bar  screwed  a 
nut  so  as  to  hold  the  cart-wheel  down  firmly  on  the 
*'  platform." 

"  Now,  boy,  the  pincers  !  " 

Then  he,  grasping  a  long  pair  of  forceps,  his  appren- 
tice with  another,  laid  hold  of  the  glowing  tire,  and 
raising  it  from  the  fire  carried  it  scintillating  to  the 
wheel,  lifted  it  over  the  spindle,  and  dropped  it  about 
the  woodwork.  Then,  at  once,  they  seized  huge  ham- 
mers and  began  to  belabor  the  tire,  to  drive  it  on  to 
the  wheel,  which  smoked  and  flamed. 

**  Water,  boy,  water  !  " 

The  apprentice  threw  water  from  a  pitcher  over  the 
tire  throughout  its  circumference,  dulling  its  fire,  and 
producing  clouds  of  steam. 

Mehetabel,  well  aware  that  at  this  juncture  the  wright 
must  not  be  interfered  with,  drew  close  to  the  fire,  and 
kneeling  by  it  warmed  herself  and  the  sleeping  child, 
whilst  she  watched  the  sturdy  men  whirling  their  ham- 
mers and  beating  the  tire  down  into  place  around  the 
wheel. 

At  length  the  wright  desisted.  He  leaned  on  his 
great  hammer  ;  and  then  Mehetabel  timidly  addressed 
him. 

"  Please,  Mr.  Puttenham,  are  you  not  Guardian  of 
the  Poor?"  _ 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  253 

"  Certainly,  Mrs.  Kink." 

"  May  I  be  put  in  the  Poors*  House  ?  " 

"  You ! " 

The  wheelwright  opened  his'eyes  very  wide. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Puttenham,  I  have  no  home." 

"  Why,  Matabel !  What  is  the  sense  of  this  ?  Your 
home  is  in  the  Punch-Bowl." 

"  I  have  left  it." 

**  Then  you  must  return  to  it  again." 

"  I  cannot.     Take  me  into  the  Poors*  House." 

**  My  good  girl,  this  is  rank  nonsense.  The  Poor 
House  is  not  for  you,  or  such  as  you." 

"  I  need  its  shelter  more  than  most.  I  have  no 
home.'* 

"  Are  you  gone  off  your  head  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  My  mind  is  sound,  but  to  the  Punch-Bowl 
I  cannot,  and  will  not,  return.     No,  never !  " 

"  Matabel,'*  said  the  wheelwright,  •'  I  suppose  you 
and  Jonas  have  had  a  quarrel.  Bless  you  !  Such  things 
happen  in  married  life,  over  and  over  again,  and  you'll 
come  together  and  love  each  other  all  the  better  for 
these  tiffs.     I  know  it  by  experience." 

**  I  cannot  go  back  !     I  will  not  go  back  !  *' 

'*  It  is  not  cannot  or  will  not — it  is  a  case  of  must. 
That  is  your  home.  But  this  I  will  do  for  you.  Go 
in  and  ask  my  old  woman  to  let  you  have  some  break- 
fast, and  I'll  send  Jack  " — he  signed  to  his  apprentice 
— '*  and  bid  him  tell  Bideabout  where  you  are,  and  let 
him  fetch  you.     We  mustn't  have  a  scandal.'* 

"  If  Jonas  comes,  I  shall  run  away." 

"  Whither  ?  " 

That  Mehetabel  could  not  say. 

"  Where  can  you  go  ?  Nowhere,  save  to  your  hus- 
band's house.  For  God's  sake ! "  he  suddenly  ex- 
claimed, knocking  his  hammer  on  the  tire,  ''  don't  say 
you  are  going  to  Guildford — to  Iver  Verstage." 

Mehetabel  raised  her  heavy  eyes,  and  looked  the 
wheelwright  frankly  in  the  face.  "  I  would  rather  throw 
myself  and  baby  into  one  of  the  Hammer  Ponds  than 
do  that." 


254  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

"  Right !  You're  a  good  gal.  But  there  was  no 
knowing.  Folks  talk.  Come  in!  You  shall  have 
something — and  rest  a  while." 

The  kind,  well-intentioned  man  laid  his  large  hand 
on  her  shoulder  and  almost  forced  her,  but  gently, 
towards  the  house.  She  would  not  enter  the  door  till 
he  had  promised  not  to  send  for  Jonas. 

Selena  Puttenham,  the  wright's  wife,  was  a  loqua- 
cious and  inquisitive  woman,  and  she  allowed  Mehe- 
tabel  no  rest.  She  gave  her  bread  and  milk  with  readi- 
ness, and  probed  her  with  questions  which  Mehetabel 
could  not  answer  without  relating  the  whole  horrible 
truth,  and  this  she  was  resolved  not  to  do. 

The  Wright  was  busy,  and  could  not  remain  in  his 
cottage.  The  wife,  with  the  kindest  intentions,  was 
unable  to  restrain  herself  from  putting  her  guest  on 
the  rack.  The  condition  of  Mehetabel  was  one  to 
rouse  curiosity.  Why  was  she  there,  with  her  baby, 
in  the  early  morning  ?  Without  having  even  covered 
her  head ;  fasted  and  jaded  ?  Had  there  been  a 
quarrel.  If  so — about  what?  Had  Bideabout  beaten 
her?  Had  he  thrust  her  out  and  locked  the  door?  If 
so,  in  what  had  she  offended  him  ?  Had  she  been 
guilty  of  some  grievous  misdemeanor? 

At  length,  unable  further  to  endure  the  torture  to 
which  she  was  subjected,  Mehetabel  sprang  up,  and  in- 
sisted on  leaving  the  cottage. 

Without  answering  Mrs.  Puttenham's  question  as  to 
whither  she  was  going,  what  were  her  intentions,  the 
unhappy  girl  hastened  out  of  the  village  clasping  in 
her  arms  the  child,  which  had  begun  to  sob. 

And  now  she  made  her  way  towards  Witley,  of 
which  Thursley  was  a  daughter  parish.  She  would 
find  the  Vicar,  who  had  always  treated  her  with  con- 
sideration, and  even  affection.  The  distance  was  con- 
siderable, in  her  weary  condition,  but  she  plodded  on 
in  hopes.  He  was  a  man  of  position  and  authority, 
and  she  could  trust  him  to  protect  her  and  the  child. 
To  him  she  would  tell  all,  in  confidence  that  he  would 
not  betray  her  secret. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  255 

At  length,  so  fagged  that  she  could  hardly  walk, 
her  arms  cramped  and  aching,  her  nerves  thrilling,  be- 
cause the  child  was  crying,,  and  would  not  be  com- 
forted, she  reached  the  Vicarage,  and  rang  at  the  back 
door  bell.  Some  time  elapsed  before  the  door  was 
opened ;  and  then  the  babe  was  screaming  so  vocifer- 
ously, and  struggling  in  her  arms  with  such  energy, 
that  she  was  not  able  to  make  herself  heard  when  she 
asked  for  the  Parson. 

The  woman  who  had  answered  the  summons  was  a 
stranger,  consequently  did  not  know  Mehetabel.  She 
made  signs  to  her  to  go  away. 

The  cries  of  the  child  became  more  violent,  and  the 
mother's  efforts  were  directed  towards  pacifying  it. 
^'  Let  me  come  in,  I  pray  !  I  pray  ! "  she  asked  with  a 
brow,  in  spite  of  the  cold,  bathed  in  perspiration. 

**  I  cannot !  I  must  not ! "  answered  the  woman. 
She  caught  her  by  the  arm,  drew  her  aside,  and  said 
— ''  Do  you  not  know  ?  Look  !  the  blinds  are  all  down. 
He  died  in  the  night  !  " 

"  Dead  !  "  cried  Mehetabel,  reeling  back.  "  My  God  ! 
whither  shall  I  go  ?  " 


256  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

AT  THE  SILK  MILL. 

Mehetabel  sank  on  the  grass  by  the  drive. 

"  I  am  worn  out.  I  can  go  no  further,"  she  said,  and 
bowed  her  head  over  the  child. 

**  You  cannot  remain  here.  It  is  not  seemly — a  house 
of  mourning,"  said  the  woman. 

"  He  would  not  mind,  were  he  alive,"  sobbed  Meheta- 
bel. "  He  would  have  cared  for  me  and  my  babe  ;  he 
was  always  kind." 

"  But  he  is  not  alive ;  that  makes  the  difference," 
said  the  servant.  "You  really  must  still  the  child  or 
go  away." 

"  I  cannot  go  another  step,"  answered  Mehetabel, 
raising  her  head  and  sinking  it  again,  after  she  had 
spoken. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  This  is  unreasonable ; 
I'll  go  call  the  gardener.  If  you  won't  go  when  asked 
you  must  be  removed  by  force." 

The  woman  retired,  and  presently  the  gardener  came 
up.  He  knew  Mehetabel — that  is  to  say,  knew  who 
she  was. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  my  cottage  is  just  yonder.  You 
must  not  remain  here  on  the  green,  and  in  the  cold. 
No  wonder  the  child  screams.  There  is  a  fire  in  my 
house,  and  you  can  have  what  you  like  for  a  while,  till 
you  are  rested.     Give  me  your  hand." 

Mehetabel  allowed  him  to  raise  her,  and  she  followed 
him  mechanically  from  the  drive  into  the  cottage,  that 
was  warm  and  pleasant. 

"  There  now,  missus,"  said  the  man  ;  "  make  yourself 
comfortable  for  an  hour  or  two." 

The  rest,  the  warmth,  were  grateful  to  Mehetabel. 
She  was  almost   too  weary  to   thank  the   man  with 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  ^^7 

words,  but  she  looked  at  him  with  gratitude,  and  he 
felt  that  her  heart  was  over  full  for  her  to  speak.  He 
returned  to  his  work,  and  left  her  to  herself.  There 
was  no  one  else  in  the  cottage,  as  he  was  a  widower, 
and  had  no  family. 

After  a  considerable  time,  when  Mehetabel  had  had 
time  to  recruit  her  strength,  he  reappeared.  The  short 
winter  day  was  already  closing  in.  The  cold  black 
vapors  rose  over  the  sky,  obscuring  the  little  light,  as 
though  grudging  the  earth  its  brief  period  of  illumina- 
tion. 

"  I  thought  Yd  best  come,  you  know,"  said  the  man, 
"'just  to  tell  you  that  I'm  sorry,  but  I  can't  receive  you 
here  for  the  night.  I'm  a  widower,  and  folk  might  talk. 
Why  are  you  from  home  ?  " 

"  I  ran  away.     I  cannot  return  to  the  Punch-Bowl." 

"  Well,  now.  That's  curious !  "  said  the  gardener. 
**Time  out  of  mind  I've  had  it  in  my  head  to  run  away 
when  my  old  woman  was  rampageous.  I've  knowed  a 
man  who  actually  did  run  to  Americay  becos  his  wife 
laid  on  him  so.  But  I  never,  in  my  experience,  heard 
of  a  woman  runnin'  away  from  her  husband,  that  is  to 
say — alone.     You  ain't  got  no  one  with  you,  now?  " 

"  Yes,  my  baby." 

"  I  don't  mean  that.  Well,  it  is  coorious,  a  woman 
runnin'  away  with  her  baby.  I'm  terrible  sorry,  but  I 
can't  take  you  in  above  another  half-hour.  Where  are 
you  thinking  of  goyne  to  ?  " 

"  I  know  of  no  where  and  no  one." 

"  Why  not  try  Missus  Chivers  at  Thursley.  You 
was  at  her  school,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  was  there." 

'*  Try  her,  and  all  will  come  right  in  the  end." 

Mehetabel  rose ;  her  child  was  now  asleep. 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  gardener.  "  Here's  a  nice 
plaid  shawl,  as  belonged  to  my  missus,  and  a  wun'erful 
old  bonnet  of  hers — as  the  cat  has  had  kittens  in  since 
she  went  to  her  rest — and  left  me  to  mine.  You  are 
heartily  welcome.  I  can't  let  you  turn  out  in  the  cold 
with  nothing  on  your  head  nor  over  your  shoulders," 
17 


258  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

Mehetabel  gladly  accepted  the  articles  of  clothing 
offered  her.  She  had  already  eaten  of  what  the  man 
had  placed  on  the  table  for  her,  when  he  left  the  house. 
She  could  not  burden  him  longer  with  her  presence,  as 
he  was  obviously  nervous  about  his  character,  lest  it 
should  suffer  should  he  harbor  her.  Thanking  him, 
she  departed,  and  walked  back  to  Thursley  through  the 
gathering  gloom. 

Betty  Chivers  kept  a  dame's  school,  in  which  she 
had  instructed  the  children  of  Thursley  in  the  alphabet, 
simple  summing,  and  in  the  knowledge  and  fear  of 
God.  With  the  march  of  the  times  we  have  abolished 
dames'  schools,  and  cut  away  thereby  a  means  of  live- 
lihood from  many  a  worthy  woman  ;  but  what  is  worse, 
have  driven  the  little  ones  into  board  schools,  that  are 
godless,  where  they  are  taught  to  despise  manual 
labor,  and  to  grow  up  without  moral  principle.  Our 
schools  are  like  dockyards,  whence  expensively-equipped 
vessels  are  launched  provided  with  everything  except 
ballast,  which  will  prevent  their  capsizing  in  the  first 
squall.  The  Vicar  of  Witley  had  been  one  of  those  men, 
in  advance  of  his  time,  who  had  initiated  this  system. 

Whatever  of  knowledge  of  good,  and  of  discipline 
of  conscience  Mehetabel  possessed,  was  obtained  from 
Mrs.  Susanna  Verstage,  or  from  old  Betty  Chivers. 

We  are  told  that  if  we  cast  our  bread  on  the  waters, 
we  shall  find  it  after  many  days.  But  simple  souls 
are  too  humble  to  recognize  it. 

So  was  it  with  Goodie  Chivers. 

That  Mehetabel,  through  all  her  trials,  acted  as  a 
woman  of  principle,  clung  to  what  she  knew  to,  be  right, 
was  due  very  largely  to  the  old  dame's  instructions, 
but  Betty  was  too  lowly-minded  for  one  instant  to 
allow  this,  even  to  suspect  it. 

Our  Board  School  masters  and  mistresses  have  quite 
as  little  suspicion  that  they  have  sowed  the  seed  which 
sprung  up  in  the  youths  who  are  dismissed  from  offices 
for  defalcation,  and  the  girls  who  leave  menial  service 
to  walk  the  streets. 

Mrs.  Chivers  was  glad  to  see  Mehetabel  when  she 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  259 

entered.  She  had  heard  talk  about  her — that  she  had 
run  away  from  her  husband,  and  was  wandering  through 
the  country  with  her  babe  ;  an^  having  a  tender  heart, 
and  a  care  for  all  her  old  pupils,  she  had  felt  anxious 
concerning  her. 

Mehetabel  pleaded  to  be  taken  in  for  the  night,  and 
to  this  Mrs.  Chivers  readily  consented.  She  would 
share  her  bed  with  the  mother  and  the  child,  as  well 
as  her  crust  of  bread  and  cup  of  thin  tea.  Of  milk,  in 
her  poverty,  the  old  woman  allowed  herself  but  a  few 
drops,  and  of  butter  with  her  bread  none  at  all. 

Yet  what  she  had,  that  she  cheerfully  divided  with 
Mehetabel. 

On  the  morrow,  after  a  restful  sleep,  the  young  wife 
started  for  a  silk  mill  on  one  of  those  Hammer  ponds 
that  occupied  a  depression  in  the  Common.  These 
ponds  were  formed  at  the  time  when  iron  was  worked 
in  the  district,  and  the  ponds,  as  their  nam.e  implies, 
were  for  the  storage  of  water  to  beat  out  the  iron  by 
means  of  large  hammers,  set  in  motion  by  a  wheel. 
When  these  ponds  were  constructed  is  not  known. 
The  trees  growing  on  the  embankments  that  hold 
back  the  water  are  of  great  size  and  advanced  age. 

One  of  these  ponds,  at  the  time  of  our  tale,  was 
utilized  for  a  silk  mill. 

On  reaching  the  silk  mill,  she  timidly  asked  for  the 
manufacturer.  She  knew  him  slightly,  as  he  had  been 
occasionally  to  the  **  Ship,"  where  he  had  lodged  a 
guest  at  one  time  when  his  house  was  full,  and  at 
another  to  call  on  a  fisherman  who  was  an  acquaint- 
ance, and  who  was  staying  there.  He  was  a  blunt 
man,  with  a  very  round  head  and  a  very  flat  face.  His 
name  was  Lilliwhite.  He  had  exchanged  words  with 
Mehetabel  when  she  was  at  the  inn,  and  had  always 
been  kindly  in  his  address. 

When  she  was  shown  into  his  office,  as  ill-luck  would 
have  it  at  once  the  child  became  fretful  and  cried. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Mehetabel.  "  I  am  sorry 
to  trouble  you,  but  I  wish  you  would  be  so  good,  sir, 
as  to  let  me  do  some  work  for  you  in  the  mill." 


26o  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

*'  You,  Mehetabel !     Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

**  Please,  sir,  I  have  left  the  Punch-Bowl.  I  cannot 
stay  there  any  longer.  Do  not  ask  me  the  reasons. 
They  are  good   ones,  but  I  had  rather  not  tell  them. 

I  must  now  earn  my  own  livelihood,  and "     She 

was  unable  to  proceed  owing  to  the  wailing  of  the 
infant. 

**  Look  here,  my  dear,"  said  the  silk  weaver, "  I 
cannot  hear  you  on  account  of  the  noise,  and  as  I  have 
something  to  attend  to,  I  will  leave  you  here  alone  for 
a  few  minutes,  whilst  I  look  to  my  business.  I  will 
return  shortly,  when  the  young  dragon  has  ceased 
rampaging.      I  dare  say  it  is  hungry." 

Then  the  good-natured  man  departed,  and  Mehetabel 
used  her  best  endeavors  to  reduce  her  child  to  quiet. 
It  was  not  hungry,  it  was  not  cold.  It  was  in  pain. 
She  could  feed  it,  she  could  warm  it,  but  she  knew  not 
how  to  give  it  that  repose  which  it  so  much  needed. 

After  some  minutes  had  elapsed,  Mr.  Lilliwhite 
looked  in  again,  but  as  the  child  was  still  far  from 
pacified,  he  retired  once  more. 

Twenty  minutes  to  half-an-hour  had  passed  before  the 
feeble  wails  of  the  infant  had  decreased  in  force,  and 
had  died  away  wholly,  and  then  the  manufacturer  re- 
turned, smiling,  to  his  ofifice. 

'*  Ton  my  soul,"  said  he,  "  I  believe  this  is  the  first 
time  my  shop  has  been  turned  into  a  nursery.  Come 
now,  before  the  Dragon  of  Wantley  is  awake  and  roar- 
ing, tell  me  what  you  want." 

Mehetabel  repeated  her  request. 

"  There  is  no  one  I  would  more  willingly  oblige," 
said  he.  "  You  have  ever  conducted  yourself  well,  and 
have  been  industrious.  But  there  are  difficulties  in  the 
way.     First  and  foremost,  the  Dragon  of  Wantley." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir." 

"  I  mean  the  child.  What  will  you  do  with  it  ? 
If  you  come  here,  engaged  by  me,  you  must  be  at  the 
mill  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning.  There  is  an 
hour  for  dinner  at  noon,  and  the  mill  hands  are  released 
5,t  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  in  winter  and  six  in 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  261 

summer.  What  will  the  Dragon  do  all  the  time  its 
mother  is  spinning  silk?  You  cannot  have  the  creat- 
ure here — and  away,  who  will  care  for  it  ?  Who  feed 
it?" 

"  I  had  thought  of  leaving  my  baby  at  Mrs.  Chivers'.  " 
"  That  is  nonsense,"  said  the  silk  weaver.  *'  The 
Dragon  won't  be  spoon-fed.  Its  life  depends  on  its 
getting  its  proper,  natural  nourishment.  So  that  won't 
do.  As  for  having  it  here — that's  an  impossibility. 
Much  you  would  attend  to  the  spindles  when  the 
Dragon  was  bellowing.  Besides,  it  would  distract  the 
other  girls.  So  you  see,  this  won't  do.  And  there  are 
other  reasons.  I  couldn't  receive  you  without  your 
husband's  consent.  But  the  Dragon  remains  as  the 
insuperable  difficulty.  Fiddle-de-dee,  Matabel !  Don't 
think  of  it.  For  your  own  sake,  for  the  Dragon's  sake, 
I  say  it  won't  do." 


262  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  XL. 
BY  THE  HAMMER  POND. 

Discouraged  at  her  lack  of  success,  Mehetabel 
now  turned  her  steps  towards  Thursley.  She  was  sick 
at  heart.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  every  door  of  escape 
from  her  wretched  condition  was  shut  against  her. 

She  ascended  the  dip  in  the  Common  through  which 
the  stream  ran  that  fed  the  Hammer  ponds,  and  after 
leaving  the  sheet  of  water  that  supplied  the  silk  mill, 
reached  a  brake  of  willow  and  bramble,  through  which 
the  stream  made  its  way  from  the  upper  pond. 

The  soil  was  resolved  into  mud,  and  oozed  with 
springs ;  at  the  sides  broke  out  veins  of  red  chaly- 
beate water,  of  the  color  of  brick. 

She  started  teal,  that  went  away  with  a  rush  and 
frightened  her  child,  which  cried  out,  and  fell  into  sobs. 

Then  before  her  rose  a  huge  embankment ;  with  a 
sluice  at  the  top  over  which  the  pond  decanted  and  the 
overflow  was  carried  a  Httle  way  through  a  culvert, 
beneath  a  mound  on  which  once  had  stood  the  smelt- 
ing furnace,  and  which  now  dribbled  forth  rust-stained 
springs. 

The  bank  had  to  be  surmounted,  and  in  Mehetabel's 
condition  it  taxed  her  powers,  and  when  she  reached 
the  top  she  sank  out  of  breath  on  a  fallen  bole  of  a 
tree.  Here  she  rested,  with  the  child  in  her  lap,  and 
her  head  in  her  hand.  Whither  should  she  go?  To 
whom  betake  herself?  She  had  not  a  friend  in  the 
world  save  Iver,  and  it  was  not  possible  for  her  to 
appeal  to  him. 

Now,  in  her  desolation,  she  understood  what  it  was 
to  be  without  a  relative.  Every  one  else  had  some  one 
tied  by  blood  to  whom  to  apply,  who  would  counsel, 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  263 

assist,  afford  a  refuge.  A  nameless  girl,  brought  up 
by  the  parish,  with — as  far  as  she  was  aware — but  one 
relative  in  the  world,  her  mother's  sister,  whose  name 
she  knew  not,  and  whose  existence  she  could  not  be 
sure  of — she  was  indeed  alone  as  no  other  could  be. 

The  lake  lay  before  her  steely  and  cold. 

The  chill  wind  hissed  and  sobbed  among  the  bul- 
rushes, and  in  the  coarse  marsh  grass  that  fringed  the 
water  on  all  sides  except  that  of  the  dam. 

The  stunted  willows  shed  their  broad-shaped  leaves 
that  sailed  and  drifted,  formed  fleets,  and  clustered  to- 
gether against  the  bank. 

The  tree  bole  on  which  she  was  seated  was  rotting 
away;  a  huge  fleshy  fungus  had  formed  on  it,  and  the 
decaying  timber  emitted  a  charnel-house  smell. 

Now  the  babe  in  Mehetabel's  arms  was  quiet.  It 
was  asleep.  She  herself  was  weary,  and  quivering  in 
all  her  limbs,  hot  and  yet  cold,  with  an  aguish  feeling. 
Her  strength  of  purpose  was  failing  her.  She  was 
verging  on  despair. 

She  could  not  remain  with  Betty  Chivers  without 
paying  for  her  lodging  and  for  her  food.  The  woman 
did  but  just  maintain  herself  out  of  the  little  school 
and  the  post-office.  She  was  generous  and  kind,  but 
she  had  not  the  means  to  support  Mehetabel,  nor  could 
Mehetabel  ask  it  of  her. 

What  should  she  do  ?  What  the  silk  manufacturer 
had  said  was  quite  true.  The  babe  stood  in  her  way 
of  getting  employment,  and  the  babe  she  must  not 
leave.  That  little  life  depended  on  her,  and  her  time, 
care,  thought  must  be  devoted  to  it. 

Oh,  if  now  she  could  but  have  had  that  fifteen 
pounds  which  Simon  Verstage  in  his  providence  had 
given  her  on  her  wedding  day  !  With  that  she  would 
have  been  easy,  independent. 

When  Jonas  robbed  her  of  the  sum  he  cut  away 
from  her  the  chance  of  subsistence  elsewhere  save  in 
his  house — at  all  events  at  such  a  time  as  this. 

She  looked  dreamily  at  the  water,  that  like  an  eye 
exercised  a  fascination  on  her. 


264  THE  BROOM-SQUIRK 

Would  it  not  be  well  to  cast  herself  into  this  pool, 
with  her  babe,  and  then  both  would  be  together  at 
rest,  and  away  from  the  cruel  world  that  wanted  them 
not,  that  rejected  them,  that  had  no  love,  no  pity  for 
them? 

But  she  put  the  thought  resolutely  from  her. 

Presently  she  noticed  the  flat-bottomed  boat  usually 
kept  on  the  pond  for  the  convenience  of  fishers ;  it 
was  being  propelled  over  the  stream  in  her  direction. 
A  minute  later,  a  man  seated  in  the  boat  ran  it  against 
the  bank  and  stepped  out,  fastened  the  point  to  a  wil- 
low stump,  and  came  towards  her. 

"  What — is  this  the  Squiress  ?  " 

She  looked  up  and  recognized  him. 

The  man  who  came  to  her  and  addressed  her  was 
Mr.  Markham,  the  young  barrister,  who  had  been  to 
the  Punch-Bowl  to  obtain  the  assistance  of  Jonas  in 
wild-duck  shooting. 

She  recalled  his  offensively  familiar  manner,  and  was 
troubled  to  see  him  again.  And  yet  she  remembered 
his  last  remark  on  leaving,  when  he  had  offered  his 
services  to  help  her  to  free  herself  from  her  bondage 
to  Jonas.  The  words  might  have  been  spoken  in  jest, 
yet  no'/  she  caught  at  them. 

He  stood  looking  at  her,  and  he  saw  both  how  pale 
she  was,  with  a  hectic  flame  in  her  cheek,  and  a 
feverish  glitter  in  her  eye,  and  also  how  beautiful  she 
thus  was. 

'*  Why,"  said  he,  **  what  brings  you  here  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  to  the  silk  mill  in  quest  of  work." 

"  Work !  Broom-Squiress,  one  such  as  you  should 
not  work.  You  missed  your  vocation  altogether  when 
you  left  the  Ship.  Jonas  told  me  you  had  been 
there." 

"  I  was  happy  then." 

*'  But  are  you  not  so  in  the  Punch-Bowl  ?  " 

"  No.  I  am  very  miserable.  But  I  will  not  return 
there  again." 

"  What !— fallen  out  with  the  Squire  ?" 

"  He  has  made  it  impossible  for  me  to  go  back." 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  265 

"  Then  whither  are  you  bound  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

He  looked  at  her  intently. 

"  Now,  see  here,"  said  he.  **  Sit  down  on  that  log 
again  from  which  you  have  risen  and  tell  me  all.  I  am 
a  lawyer  and  can  help  you,  I  daresay." 

"  I  have  not  much  to  tell,"  she  answered,  and  sank 
on  the  tree  bole.     He  seated  himself  beside  her. 

"  There  are  things  that  have  happened  which  have 
made  me  resolve  to  go  anywhere,  do  anything,  rather 
than  return  to  Jonas.  I  promised  what  I  could  not 
keep  when  I  said  I  would  love,  honor,  and  obey 
him." 

Then  she  began  to  sob.  It  touched  her  that  this 
young  man  should  express  sympathy,  offer  his  help. 

"  Now  listen  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Markham  ;  "  I  am  a 
barrister.  I  know  the  law,  I  have  it  at  my  fingers' 
ends,  and  I  place  myself,  my  knowledge  and  my  abil- 
ities at  your  disposal.  I  shall  feel  proud,  flattered  to 
do  so.  Your  beauty  and  your  distress  appeal  to  me 
irresistibly.     Has  the  Squire  been  beating  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  not  that." 

**  Then  what  has  he  done  ?  " 

"  There  are  things  worse  to  bear  than  a  stick." 

"  What !  Oh,  the  gay  Lothario  !  He  has  been  cast- 
ing his  eye  about  and — has  lost  his  leathery  heart  to 
some  less  well-favored  wench  than  yourself." 

Mehetabel  moved  further  from  him  on  the  tree-bole. 

He  began  picking  at  the  great  lichen  that  grew  out 
of  the  decaying  tree,  and  laughed. 

"  Have  I  hit  it?  Jealous — eh?  Jealousy  is  at  the 
bottom  of  it  all.  By  Jove,  the  Broom-Squire  isn't  worth 
expending  a  jealous  thought  on.  He's  a  poor  sordid 
creature.  Not  worthy  of  you.  So — jealous,  my  little 
woman,  eh  ?  " 

Mehetabel  turned  and  looked  steadily  at  him. 

"  You  do  not  understand  me,"  she  said.  "  No — 
Jonas  has  not  sunk  so  low  as  that." 

"  He  would  have  been  a  fool  to  have  cast  aside  a 
jewel  for  the  sake  of  quartz  crystal,"  laughed   Mark- 


266  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

ham.  "  But,  come.  A  lawyer  is  a  confessor.  Tell 
me  everything.  Make  no  reservations.  Open  your 
heart  to  me,  and  see  if  the  law,  or  myself — between  us 
we  cannot  assist  you." 

Mehetabel  hesitated.  The  manner  in  which  the  man 
offered  his  services  was  offensive,  and  yet  in  her  inno- 
cent mind  she  thought  that  perhaps  the  fault  lay  in 
herself  in  not  understanding  and  receiving  his  address 
in  the  way  in  which  it  was  intended.  Besides,  in  what 
other  manner  could  she  obtain  relief  ?  Every  other 
means  was  taken  from  her. 

Slowly,  reluctantly,  she  told  him  much  that  she  had 
not  told  to  any  one  else — only  not  that  Jonas  had 
endeavored  to  kill  the  child.  That  she  would  not 
relate. 

When  she  had  finished  her  tale,  he  said,  "  What  you 
have  told  me  is  a  very  sad  story,  and  makes  my  heart 
ache  for  you.  You  can  rely  on  me,  I  will  be  your 
friend  and  protector.  We  have  had  a  case  on  lately, 
of  a  woman  who  was  equally  unhappy  in  her  married 
life ;  her  name  was  Jane  Summers.  You  may  have 
seen  it  in  the  papers." 

"  I !  I  never  see  the  papers.  How  did  Jane  Summers 
manage  ?  " 

She  had  a  crabbed,  ill-conditioned  husband,  and  she 
was  a  fine,  handsome,  lusty  woman.  He  fell  ill,  and 
she  did  not  afford  him  all  that  care  and  attention 
which  was  requisite  in  his  condition.  She  went  out 
amusing  herself,  and  left  him  at  home  with  no  one  to 
see  to  his  necessities.  The  consequence  was  that  he 
died,  and  she  was  tried  for  it,  but  the  case  against  her 
broke  down.  It  could  not  be  proved  that  had  she 
been  devoted  to  him  in  his  sickness  he  would  have 
recovered.  The  law  takes  cognizance  of  commission 
of  a  crime,  and  not  of  neglect  of  duty." 

Mehetabel  opened  her  eyes.  "  If  Jonas  were  ill  I 
would  attend  him  day  and  night,"  she  said.  "  But  he 
is  not  ill — never  was,  till  the  shot  entered  his  arm,  and 
then  I  was  with  him  all  day  and  all  night." 

"  How  did  he  receive  your  ministry?" 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  267 

"  He  was  very  irritable.  I  suppose  the  pain  made 
him  so." 

"  You  got  no  thanks  for  your  trouble  ?  " 

**  None  at  all.  I  thought  he  would  have  been 
kinder  when  he  recovered." 

*'  Then,"  said  the  young  man,  laughing ;  "  the  man 
is  not  to  be  cured.     You  must  leave  him." 

"  I  have  done  so." 

"  And  you  are  seeking  a  home  and  a  protector?  " 

"I  want  to  earn  my  living  somewhere." 

"  A  pretty  young  thing  like  you,"  said  the  stranger, 
**  cannot  fail  to  make  her  way.  Come  !  I  have  offered 
you  my  aid,"  he  put  his  arm  round  her  and  attempted 
to  snatch  a  kiss. 

"So!"  exclaimed  Mehetabel,  starting  to  her  feet. 
*'  This  is  the  friend  and  protector  you  would  be  !  I 
trusted  you  with  my  troubles,  and  you  have  taken 
advantage  of  my  trust.  Let  me  alone  !  Wherever  I 
turn  there  hell  hath  opened  her  mouth  !  A  moment 
ago  I  thought  of  ending  all  my  troubles  in  this  pond — 
that  a  thousand  times  before  trusting  you  further." 

With  beating  heart — beating  with  anger — proudly 
raising  her  weary  head,  she  walked  away. 


268  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

WANDERERS. 

It  occurred  to  Mehetabel  that  the  rector  of  Milford 
had  been  over  at  Thursley  several  times  to  do  duty 
when  the  vicar  of  Witley  was  ill,  and  she  thought  that 
perhaps  she  might  obtain  advice  from  him. 

Accordingly  she  turned  in  the  direction  of  that  vil- 
lage as  soon  as  she  had  reached  the  road.  She  walked 
wearily  along  till  she  arrived  in  this,  the  adjoining  par- 
ish, separated  from  Thursley  by  a  tract  of  healthy  com- 
mon. At  her  request,  she  was  shown  into  the  library, 
and  she  told  the  parson  of  her  trouble. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  read  her  a  lecture  on 
the  duties  of  wife  to  husband ;  and,  taking  his  Bible, 
provided  her  with  texts  to  corroborate  what  he  said. 

"  Please,  sir,"  she  said,  ^'  I  was  married  when  I  did 
not  wish  it,  and  when  I  did  not  know  what  I  could  do, 
and  what  was  impossible.  As  the  Church  married  me, 
can  it  not  undo  the  marriage,  and  set  me  free  again  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  What  has  been  joined  together 
cannot  be  put  asunder.  It  is  not  impossible  to  obtain 
a  separation,  legally,  but  you  will  have  to  go  before 
lawyers  for  that." 

Mehetabel  flushed.  "  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with 
lawyers,"  she  said  hastily. 

"  You  would  be  required  to  show  good  cause  why 
you  desire  a  separation,  and  then  it  would  be  expen- 
sive.    Have  you  money  ?  " 

**  Not  a  penny." 

"  The  law  in  England — everywhere — is  only  for  the 
rich." 

"  Then  is  there  nothing  you  can  advise  ?  " 

"  Only  that  you  should  go  home  again,  and  bear 
what  you  have  to  bear  as  a  cross  laid  on  you." 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  269 

"  I  will  never  go  back." 

''  It  is  your  duty  to  do  so." 

"  I  cannot,  and  will  nof." 

"  Then,  Mrs.  Kink,  I  am  afraid  the  blame  of  this  do- 
mestic broil  lies  on  your  shoulders  quite  as  much  as  on 
those  of  your  husband.  Woman  is  the  weaker  vessel. 
Her  duty  is  to  endure." 

"  And  a  separation " 

*'  That  is  legal  only,  and  unless  you  can  show  very 
good  cause  why  it  should  be  granted,  it  may  be  refused. 
Has  your  husband  beaten  you  ?" 

*'  No,  but  he  has  spoken  to  me " 

"  Words  break  no  bones.  I  don't  think  words  would 
be  considered.  I  can't  say;  I'm  no  lawyer.  But  re- 
member— even  if  separated  by  law,  in  the  sight  of  God 
you  would  still  be  one." 

Mehetabel  left,  little  cheered. 

As  she  walked  slowly  back  along  the  high-road,  she 
was  caught  up  by  Betsy  Cheel. 

*'  Halloo  !  "  said  this  woman  ;  "  where  have  you 
been  ?  " 

Mehetabel  told  her. 

"  Want  to  be  separated  from  Jonas,  do  you  ?  I'm 
not  surprised.  I  always  thought  him  a  bad  fellow,  but 
I  doubt  if  he's  worse  than  my  man,  Jamaica." 

After  a  while  she  said  :  "  We'll  walk  together.  Then 
we  can  chat.  It's  dull  going  over  the  Common  alone. 
I've  been  selling  eggs  in  Milford.  They're  won'erful 
dear  now ;  nine  a  shillin' ;  but  the  hens  feel  the  cold, 
and  don't  lay  this  time  of  the  year  much.  How's  the 
child  ?  You  didn't  ort  to  be  carryin'  it  about  in  this 
weather  and  at  this  time  o'  the  year." 

"  I  have  nowhere  that  I  can  leave  it,  and  its  only 
home  is  against  my  heart,  in  my  arms." 

** You've  run  away?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  shall  not  go  back  to  Jonas." 

"I  don't  call  that  sense,"  said  Bessy.  **  If  you  run 
away,  run  away  with  some  one  who'll  take  care  of 
you.  That's  what  I  did.  My  first  husband — well,  I 
don't  know  as  he  was  a  proper  husband.     He  called 


270  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

me  names,  and  took  the  stick  to  me  when  drunk ;  so  I 
went  off  with  Jamaica.  That  I  call  reasonable.  Ain't 
you  got  no  one  to  run  away  with?  " 

Mehetabel  did  not  answer.  She  hastened  her  pace 
— she  did  not  relish  association  with  the  woman. 

"  Vd  have  run  away  from  Jamaica  scores  o'  times," 
continued  Mrs.  Cheel,  "  only  I  ain't  so  young  as  I  once 
was,  and  so  the  opportunities  don't  come.  There's  the 
pity.  I  didn't  start  and  leave  him  when  I  was  good- 
looking  and  fresh.  I  might  have  done  better  then.  If 
you  think  a  bad,  cross-crabbed  man  will  mend  as  he 
grows  older,  you  make  a  mistake.  They  grow  wusser. 
So  you're  right  to  leave  Jonas.  Only  you've  gone 
about  in  the  wrong  way.  There's  Iver  Verstage.  I've 
heard  talk  about  him  and  you.  He  don't  live  such  a 
terrible  distance  off.  I  hear  he's  doin'  purty  well  for 
himself  at  Guildford.  Why  don't  you  go  to  him  ? 
He's  more  suitable  in  age,  and  he's  a  nice-lookin'  young 
fellow." 

"  Mrs.  Cheel,"  said  Mehetabel,  standing  still,  "  will 
you  go  forward  a  little  faster?  I  cannot  walk  with 
you.  I  do  not  ask  you  for  any  advice.  I  do  not  want 
to  hear  what  you  have  to  say.  I  have  been  to  the 
parson.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  can  get  no  help  from 
heaven,  but  that  hell  is  holding  out  hands  on  all  sides, 
offering  assistance.  Go  on  your  way.  I  shall  sit  here 
for  half  an  hour.    I  am  too  weary  to  walk  at  your  pace." 

**  As  you  will,"  said  Bessy  Cheel.  "  I  spoke  out  of 
good  will,  and  told  what  would  be  the  best  for  you. 
If  you  won't  take  my  opinion — that's  no  odds  to  me, 
and  it  may  turn  out  wuss  for  you." 

Mehetabel  drew  aside,  to  a  nodule  of  ironstone  rock 
that  capped  the  first  elevation  of  the  Common,  the  first 
stage  of  the  terraces  that  rise  to  Hind  Head. 

Here  she  remained  till  all  chance  of  association  with 
Mrs.  Cheel  was  over.  Then  she  went  on  to  Thursley 
village,  to  find  the  Widow  Chivers  in  great  excitement. 
Jonas  Kink  had  been  in  the  village  inquiring  for  his 
wife  and  child ;  and  had  learned  that  both  had  been 
given  shelter  by  the  dame, 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  271 

He  had  come  to  the  school,  and  had  demanded  his 
wife  and  his  little  son.  Betty  had  taken  charge  of  the 
infant  and  laid  it  to  sleep*in  her  own  bed,  and  happily 
at  this  time  it  was  asleep.  When  she  told  Bideabout 
that  Mehetabel  had  left  the  house  in  quest  of  work,  he 
had  happily  concluded  that  she  had  carried  the  child 
with  her,  and  had  asked  no  further  questions  ;  but  he 
had  been  violent  and  menacing.  He  had  threatened 
to  fetch  the  constable  and  recover  his  child,  even  if  he 
let  the  mother  go  where  she  liked. 

Mehetabel  was  greatly  alarmed. 

"  I  cannot  stay  here,"  she  said,  "  in  no  case  will  I 
give  up  the  babe.  When  Iver  Verstage  baptized  me 
it  was  lest  I  should  become  a  wanderer.  I  suppose  the 
christening  was  a  poor  one — for  my  wandering  is  begun, 
and  it  is  not  I  only  who  am  condemned  to  wander,  but 
my  little  child  also." 

With  a  heavy  heart  she  left  the  dame's  school.  Had 
she  been  alone  she  would  have  run  to  Godalming  or 
Hazelmere,  and  sought  a  situation  as  a  domestic  serv- 
ant, but  that  was  not  possible  to  her  now,  cumbered 
with  the  child. 

Watching  her  opportunity,  that  none  of  the  villagers 
might  observe  her  leaving  the  school  and  note  the 
•direction  she  took,  she  ran  out  upon  the  heath,  and 
turned  away  from  the  high-road. 

On  all  sides,  as  already  intimated  at  the  opening  of 
this  tale,  the  sandy  commons  near  Thursley  are  fur- 
rowed as  though  a  giant  plough  had  been  drawn  along 
them,  but  at  so  remote  a  period  that  since  the  soil  was 
turned  the  heather  had  been  able  to  cast  its  deep  brown 
mantle  of  velvet  pile  over  every  irregularity,  and  to 
veil  the  scars  made  in  the  surface. 

These  gullies  or  furrows  vary  in  depth  from  ten  to 
forty  feet,  and  run  to  various  lengths.  They  were  the 
subaerial  excavations  and  open  adits  made  by  miners  in 
quest  of  iron  ore.  They  are  probably  of  all  dates  from 
prehistoric  antiquity  to  the  reign  of  the  Tudors,  after 
which  the  iron  smelting  of  the  weald  came  to  an  end. 
The  magnificent  oaks  of  the   forest  of  Anderida  that 


272  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

stretched  from  Winchelsea,  in  Kent,  a  hundred  and 
twenty  miles  west,  with  a  breadth  of  thirty  miles  be- 
tween the  northern  and  southern  chalk  downs — these 
oaks  had  been  hewn  down  and  used  as  fuel,  in  the 
fabrication  of  military  armor  and  weapons,  and  just  as 
the  wood  was  exhausted,  coal  was  discovered  in  the 
north,  and  the  entire  industry  of  iron  in  the  weald  came 
to  an  end. 

Mehetabel  had  often  run  up  these  gullies  when  a 
child,  playing  on  the  commons  with  Iver,  or  with  other 
scholars  of  Dame  Chivers'  school. 

She  remembered  now  that  in  one  of  these  she  and 
Iver  had  discovered  a  cave,  scooped  out  in  the  sand- 
rock,  possibly  the  beginning  of  an  adit,  probably  a 
place  for  storing  smuggled  goods.  On  a  very  small 
scale  it  resembled  the  extraordinary  labyrinth  of 
subterranean  passages  at  Puttenham,  that  may  be 
explored  at  the  present  day.  During  the  preceding 
century  and  the  beginning  of  that  in  which  we  live,  an 
extensive  business  in  smuggled  spirits,  tea,  and  tobacco 
was  carried  on  from  the  coast  to  the  Thames  ;  and 
there  were  certain  store  places,  well-known  to  the 
smugglers  in  the  line  of  trade.  In  Thursley  parish  is 
a  farm  that  is  built  over  vast  vaults,  carefully  con- 
structed, with  the  entrance  of  them  artfully  disguised. 
The  Puttenham  labyrinth  has  its  openings  in  a  dense 
coppice ;  and  it  had  this  advantage,  that  with  a  few 
strokes  of  the  pick  a  passage  could  be  blocked  with 
sand  from  the  roof. 

The  cave  that  Mehetabel  had  discovered,  and  in 
which  she  had  spent  many  a  summer  hour,  opened  out 
of  the  side  of  one  of  the  most  profound  of  the  trenches 
cut  in  the  surface  after  ore.  The  entrance  was  beneath 
a  projecting  slab  of  ironstone,  and  was  concealed  by 
bushes  of  furze  and  bramble.  It  did  not  penetrate  be- 
yond thirty  feet  into  the  sand  rock,  or  if  it  had  done 
so  formerly,  it  was  choked  when  known  to  Mehetabel, 
with  the  falling  in  of  the  roof.  These  sandstone  caves 
are  very  dry,  and  the  temperature  within  agreeable. 

Here  Mehetabel  resolved   to   bide  for  a  while,  till 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  t'^i 

she  had  found  some  place  of  greater  security  for  her. 
self  and  the  child. 

She  did  not  leave  Mrs.  Chivers  without  having 
arranged  with  her  for  the  conveyance  of  food  to  a  place 
agreed  on  between  them. 

With  the  shawl  so  kindly  given  her  by  the  gardener, 
Mehetabel  could  exclude  all  wintry  air  from  her  habita-, 
tion,  and  abundance  of  fuel  was  at  hand  in  the  gully, 
so  that  she  could  make  and  maintain  a  fire  that  would 
be  unnoticed,  because  invisible  except  to  such  as 
happened  to  enter  the  ravine. 

Mehetabel  left  the  village  and  emerged  on  the  path 
bearing  that  precious  but  woeful  burden,  her  little  babe, 
in  her  arms  folded  about  it.  Then,  all  at  once,  before 
her  she  saw  that  same  young  lawyer  who  had  insulted 
her  at  the  Hammer  Pond.  He  recognized  her  at  once, 
as  she  did  him.  She  drew  back  and  her  heart  beat 
furiously. 

"  What,  Queen  of  the  heath  ?  "  said  he,  **  still  about 
with  your  baby  ?  " 

She  would  not  answer  him.     She  stepped  back. 

"  Do  not  be  afraid ;  I  wish  you  well — you  and  your 
little  one.  Come,  for  the  sake  of  that  mite,  accept  my 
offer.  What  will  you  say  to  yourself — how  excuse 
yourself  if  it  die  through  exposure,  and  because  of 
your  silly  scruples?  " 

She  would  not  listen  to  him.  She  darted  past,  and 
fled  over  the  down. 

She  roamed  about,  lost,  distracted.  In  her  confusion 
she  missed  the  way  to  the  cave,  and  the  darkness  was 
gathering.  The  moaning  little  morsel  of  her  flesh 
could  not  be  comforted.  She  rocked  it  violently,  then 
gently.  In  neither  way  could  she  give  it  relief.  She 
knew  not  which  direction  she  had  taken,  on  what  part 
of  the  heath  she  was  straying. 

And  now  rain  began  to  fall,  and  Mehetabel  had  to 
protect  her  child  from  being  drenched.  For  herself 
she  had  no  thought.  The  rain  came  down  first  in  a 
slight  sprinkle,  and  then  in  large  drops,  and  a  cold 
wind  swashed  the  drops  into  her  face,  blinding  her. 
i8 


274  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

All  at  once,  in  the  uncertain  light,  she  saw  some  dark 
gap  open  before  her  as  a  grave.  She  would  have  fallen 
headlong  into  it  had  she  not  arrested  her  foot  in  time. 
Then,  with  a  gasp  of  relief  she  recognized  where  she 
was. 

She  stood  at  the  edge  of  the  old  mining  ravine.  This 
trench,  cut  in  the  sandy  down,  had  looked  like  a  little 
bit  of  Paradise  to  the  child-eyes  of  the  pupils  of  Betty 
Chivers  in  summer,  when  the  air  was  honey-sweet  with 
the  fragrance  of  the  flowering  furze,  and  musical  with 
the  humming  of  bees ;  and  the  earth  was  clotted  with 
spilt  raspberry  cream — the  many-tinged  blossom  of  the 
heather — alas !  it  was  now  sad,  colorless,  dripping,  cold, 
and  repellent. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  275 


CHAPTER  XLIl. 

THE  CAVE. 

Mehetabel  made  her  way  down  the  steep  side  of 
the  gully,  and  to  the  cave,  burdened  with  the  babe  she 
carried  in  her  arms.  She  bore  a  sack  over  her  back 
that  contained  some  dry  turves,  shavings,  and  a  few 
potatoes,  given  her  by  the  school-dame.  The  place  of 
refuge  had  obviously  been  frequented  by  children  long 
after  the  time  when  Mehetabel  and  Iver  had  retired  to 
it  on  hot  summer  days.  The  sides  of  the  entrance  had 
been  built  up  with  stones,  with  moss  driven  into  their 
interstices.  Within,  the  floor  was  littered  with  dry 
fern,  and  in  one  place  was  a  rude  hearth,  where  fires  had 
been  kindled  ;  this  was  immediately  under  a  vertical 
opening  that  served  as  chimney,  and  prevented  the 
smoke  of  a  fire  from  filling  the  cave. 

The  young  mother  laid  her  child  on  the  shawl  she 
spread  over  the  bracken,  and  proceeded  to  kindle  a  fire 
with  a  tinder-box  lent  her  by  Mrs.  Chivers.  It  amused 
the  babe  to  watch  the  sparks  as  they  flew  about,  and 
when  the  pile  of  turves  and  sticks  and  heather  was  in 
combustion,  to  listen  to  the  crackle,  and  watch  the  play 
and  leap  of  the  flames. 

As  the  fire  burnt  up,  and  the  blue  smoke  stole 
through  the  natural  chimney,  the  whole  cave  glowed 
orange. 

The  air  was  not  cold  within,  and  in  the  radiation  from 
the  fire,  the  place  promised  to  be  warm  and  comfort- 
able. 

The  child  crowed  and  stretched  its  feet  out  to  the 
blaze. 

She  looked  attentively  at  the  babe. 

What  did  that  wicked  young  lawyer  mean  by  saying 


276  THE  BROOM-SQUmi^. 

that  it  would  die  through  exposure  ?  It  had  cried  and 
moaned.  All  children  cry  and  moan.  They  have  no 
other  means  of  making  their  wants  known.  Wet  the 
little  creature  was  not ;  she  had  taken  every  precaution 
against  that,  but  her  own  garments  steamed  in  the  heat 
of  the  fire  she  had  kindled,  and  leaving  the  babe  to 
watch  the  dancing  flames,  she  dried  her  wet  gown  and 
stockings  in  the  glow. 

Then  by  the  reflection  Mehetabel  could  see  on  the 
nether  surface  of  the  sandstone  slab  at  the  entrance  the 
initials  of  herself  and  Iver  that  had  been  cut  by  the 
latter  many  years  ago,  with  a  true-lover's  knot  uniting 
them.  And  there  on  that  knot,  lost  in  dream,  was  a 
peacock  butterfly  that  had  retired  to  hibernate.  The 
light  from  the  fire  glowed  in  its  purple  and  gold  eyes, 
and  the  warm  ascending  air  fluttered  the  wings,  but  did 
not  restore  animation  to  the  drowsy  insect.  In  corners 
were  snails  at  the  limit  of  their  glazed  tracks,  also  in 
retreat  before  winter.  They  had  sealed  themselves  up 
in  their  houses  against  cold. 

Mehetabel  was  constrained  to  pass  in  and  out  of  her 
habitation  repeatedly  so  as  to  accumulate  fuel  that 
might  serve  through  the  night.  Happily,  on  her  way 
she  had  noticed  a  little  shelter  hut,  probably  con- 
structed by  a  village  sportsman,  under  which  he  might 
conceal  himself  with  his  gun  and  await  the  game.  This 
was  made  of  dry  heather,  and  branches  of  fir  and  chest- 
nut. She  had  no  scruple  in  pulling  this  to  pieces,  and 
conveying  as  much  as  she  could  carry  at  a  time  to  her 
cave. 

The  child,  amused  by  the  fire,  did  not  object  to  her 
temporary  desertion,  and  it  was  too  feeble  and  young 
to  crawl  near  to  the  flames. 

After  several  journeys  to  and  fro  Mehetabel  had 
contrived  to  form  a  goodly  pile  of  dry  fuel  at  the  back 
of  her  habitation,  and  now  that  a  sufficiency  of  ash  had 
been  formed  proceeded  to  embed  in  it  the  potatoes 
that  Betty  Chivers  had  given  her. 

How  often  had  she  and  Iver,  as  children,  talked  of 
being  savages  and  living  in  wigwams  and  caves,  and 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  ^77 

now  she  was  driven  to  a  life  of  savagery  in  the  midst 
of  civilization.  It  would  not,  however,  be  for  long. 
She  would  search  the  neighborhood  round  for  work, 
and  when  she  had  got  it  move  away  from  this  den  in 
the  Common. 

A  stoat  ran  in,  raised  its  head,  looked  at  the  fire, 
then  at  her,  with  ghstening  eyes  devoid  of  fear,  but 
at  a  movement  of  the  child  darted  away  and  disap- 
peared. 

A  Sabbath  sense  of  repose  came  over  Mehetabel. 
The  babe  was  content  and  crooning  itself  to  sleep. 
Her  nerves  in  tension  all  day  were  now  relaxed ;  her 
wearied  body  rested.  She  had  no  inquisitive  com- 
panion to  worry  her  with  questions,  none  overkind  to 
try  her  with  injudicious  attentions.  She  could  sit  on 
the  fragrant  fern  leaves,  extend  her  feet,  lean  her  head 
against  the  sandstone,  and  watch  the  firelight  play  over 
the  face  of  her  child. 

A  slight  sound  attracted  her  attention.  It  was 
caused  by  a  bramble  leaf  caught  in  a  cobweb,  drawn 
in  by  the  draught  produced  by  the  fire,  and  it  tapped 
at  and  scratched  the  covering  stone.  Mehetabel, 
roused  from  herlanguor,  saw  what  occasioned  the  sound, 
and  lost  all  concern  about  it.  There  were  particles  in 
the  sand  that  sparkled.  It  afforded  her  a  childish 
pleasure  to  see  the  twinkles  on  every  side  in  the  rise 
and  fall  of  the  flames.  It  was  no  exertion  to  cast  on 
another  branch  of  heather,  or  even  a  bough  of  pine. 
It  was  real  pleasure  to  listen  to  the  crackle  and  to  see 
the  sparks  shoot  like  rockets  from  the  burning  wood. 
The  cave  was  a  fairy  palace.  The  warmth  was  grate- 
ful. The  potatoes  were  hissing  in  the  embers.  Then 
Mehetabel  dreamily  noticed  a  black  shadow  stealing 
along  the  lower  surface  of  the  roof  stone.  At  first  she 
saw  it  without  interest,  without  inquiry  in  her  mind, 
but  little  by  little  her  interest  came,  and  her  attention 
centred  itself  on  the  dark  object. 

It  was  a  spider,  a  hairy  insect  with  a  monstrous  egg- 
like belly,  and  it  was  creeping  slowly  and  with  caution 
towards  the  hibernating  butterfly.     Perhaps  its  limbs 


278  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

were  stiff  with  inaction,  its  blood  congealed  ;  perhaps 
it  dreaded  lest  by  precipitation  it  might  alarm  its  prey 
and  lose  it. 

Mehetabel  put  out  her  hand,  picked  up  a  piece  of 
furze,  and  cast  it  at  the  spider,  which  fell. 

Then  she  was  uneasy  lest  it  would  crawl  along  the 
ground  and  come  to  her  baby,  and  sting  it.  She  in- 
herited the  common  superstition  that  spiders  are 
poisonous  insects. 

She  must  look  for  it. 

Only  now,  as  she  tried  to  raise  herself,  did  she  dis- 
cover how  stiff  her  joints  had  become.  She  rose  to 
her  knees,  and  raked  out  some  of  the  potatoes  from 
the  ashes,  and  swept  the  floor  where  the  spider  had 
dropped  with  a  brush  of  Scottish  pine  twigs. 

Then,  all  at  once,  she  remained  motionless.  She 
heard  steps  and  voices  outside,  the  latter  in  low  con- 
verse. Next  a  face  looked  in,  and  an  exclamation 
followed,  "  Jamaica!     There,  sure  enough,  she  be  !  " 

The  voice,  the  face — there  was  no  mistaking  either. 
They  belonged  to  Sally  Rocliffe. 

The  power  to  cry  out  failed  in  Mehetabel.  She 
hastily  thrust  her  child  behind  her,  into  the  depths  of 
the  cave,  and  interposed  herself  between  it  and  the 
glittering  eyes  of  the  woman. 

"  Come  on,  Jamaica,  we'll  see  how  she  has  made  her- 
self comfortable,"  said  Mrs.  Rocliffe,  and  she  entered, 
followed  by  Giles  Cheel.  Both  had  to  stoop  at  the 
opening,  but  when  they  were  a  few  feet  within,  could 
stand  upright. 

"  Well,  now,  I  call  this  coorious,"  said  Sarah  ;  "  don't 
you,  Jamaica?  Here's  all  the  Punch-Bowl  turned  out. 
Some  runnin'  one  way,  some  another,  all  about  Matabel. 
Some  sez  she's  off  her  head ;  some  thinks  she  has 
drownded  herself  and  the  child.  And  there's  Jonas 
stormin',  and  in  a  purty  take  in.  There  is  my  Thomas — 
gone  with  him — and  Jamaica  and  I  come  this  way  over 
the  Common.  But  I  had  a  fancy  you  might  be  at  the 
bottom  o'  one.  of  them  Hammer  Ponds.  I  was  told 
you'd  been  to  the  silk  mill." 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  -    279 

"  What  be  you  run  away  for?  What  be  you  a  hidin* 
for — just  like  a  wild  beast?"  asked  Giles  Cheel. 

Mehetabel  could  not  answer.  How  could  she  declare 
her  reason?  That  the  life  of  the  child  was  menaced 
by  its  own  father. 

"  Now  come  back  with  us,"  said  Jamaica,  in  a  per- 
suasive tone. 

"  I  will  not.  I  never  will  return,"  exclaimed  Mehet- 
abel with  energy.  She  was  kneeling,  with  her  hands 
extended  to  screen  her  child  from  the  eye  of  Sally 
Rocliffe. 

"  I  told  you  so,  did  I  not  ?  *'  asked  the  woman. 

"  She  sed  as  much  to  me  yesterday  mornin*  when  I 
saw  her  run  away." 

"  I  will  not  go  back.  I  will  never  go  back,"  repeated 
Mehetabel 

"  Where  is  the  child  ?  "  asked  Sally. 

"  It  is  behind  me." 

"  How  is  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  well  now,  now  we  are  out  of  the  Punch-Bowl, 
where  all  hate  it  and  wish  it  dead." 

"  Now,  look  here,  Matabel,"  said  Cheel,  "  you  be 
reasonable,  and  come  peaceably." 

"  I  will  not  go  back ;  I  never  will ! "  she  answered 
with  increased  vehemence. 

"  That's  all  very  fine  sayin',"  pursued  Giles  Cheel. 
"  But  go  back  you  must  when  Jonas  fetches  you." 

"  I  will  not  go  back  !     Never !  never  !  " 

"  He'll  make  you." 

**  Not  if  I  will  not  go." 

"  Aye,  but  he  can.  If  you  won't  go  when  he  axes, 
he  can  get  the  constable  to  force  you  to  go  home. 
The  law  of  the  land  can  help  him  thereto." 

"  I  will  not  go  back !     Never  !  " 

**  Where  he  is  just  now,  I  can't  say,"  pursued  Cheel. 
"  But  I  have  a  notion  he's  prowlin'  about  the  moor, 
thinkin*  you  may  have  gone  to  Thor's  Stone.  Come 
he  will,  and  he'll  take  you  and  the  baby,  and  you  may 
squeal  and  scratch,  go  back  with  him  you  must  and 
will.     So  I  say  go  peaceable." 


28o  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

"  I  will  not  go  back  !  '*  cried  Mehetabel.  She  picked 
up  a  lump  of  ironstone  and  said,  passionately,  "  I  will 
defend  myself.  I  am  as  strong  as  he.  I  am  stronger, 
for  I  will  fight  for  my  child.  I  will  kill  him  rather 
than  let  him  take  my  baby  from  me." 

"  Hear  her  ! "  exclaimed  Sally  Rocliffe.  "  She 
threatens  she'll  do  for  Jonas.  Every  one  knows  she 
tried  that  on  once  afore,  wi'  his  gun." 

**  Yes,"  said  Mehetabel,  fiercely,  "  I  will  even  do  that. 
Rather  than  go  back  and  have  my  baby  in  that  hated 
place  again,  I  will  fight  and  kill  him.  Let  him  come 
here  and  try." 

She  set  her  teeth,  her  eyes  glared,  her  breath  came 
snorting  through  her  nostrils. 

"  I  say,  Gilly,  I'll  go  back.  It  ain't  safe  here.  She's 
possessed  with  seven  devils." 

"  1  am  not  possessed,  save  with  mother's  love.  I  will 
never,  never  go  back  and  take  my  babe  to  the  Punch- 
Bowl.  Never,  never,  allow  you,  Sally,  to  look  at  its 
innocent  face  again,  nor  Jonas  to  touch  it.  There  is 
no  one  cares  for  it,  no  one  loves  it,  no  one  who  does 
not  wish  its  death,  but  me,  and  I  will  fight,  and 
never " 

Her  strength  gave  way,  her  hands  sank  in  the  sand, 
and  her  hair  fell  over  her  face,  as  she  broke  into  a 
storm  of  sobs  and  tears. 

"  I  say,  Jamaica,  come  out,"  whispered  Mrs.  Rocliffe. 
"  We'll  talk  over  wot's  to  be  done." 

Giles  Cheel  and  Sally  Rocliffe  crept  out  of  the  cave 
backwards.  They  did  so,  facing  Mehetabel,  with  mis- 
trust.    Each  believed  that  she  was  mad. 

When  the  two  were  outside,  then  Jonas's  sister  said 
to  her  companion — "  I'll  tell  you  what,  Jamaica,  I 
won't  have  nuthin'  more  to  do  with  this.  There's 
somethin'  queer ;  and  whether  Jonas  has  been  doin* 
what  he  ort  not,  or  whether  Matabel  be  gone  ram- 
pagin'  mad,  that's  not  for  me  to  say.  Let  Jonas  man- 
age his  own  affairs,  and  don't  let  us  meddle  no  more." 

"  I  am  sure  it's  as  nuthin'  to  me,"  said  Cheel.  "  But 
this  is  a  fine  thing.     At  the  christenin'  of  that  there 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  281 

baby  he  had  words  to  say  about  me  and  my  Betsy,  as 
if  we  was  a  disgrace  to  the  Punch-Bowl,  becos  we  didn't 
always  agree.  But  my  Betsy  and  me  never  came  to 
such  a  pass  as  this.  I'm  willin'.  Let's  go  back  and 
have  our  suppers,  and  let  her  be  where  she  is." 

"You  need  not  tell  Jonas  that  we  have  found  her." 

"  No ;  not  if  you  wishes." 

"  Let  the  matter  alone  altogether ;  I  reckon  she*s  in 
a  dangerous  mood,  and  so  is  Jonas.  Something  may 
come  of  it,  and  I'd  as  lief  be  out  of  it  altogether.'* 

"  That's  my  doctrine,  too,"  said  Giles. 

Then  he  put  his  head  in  at  the  cave  door,  and  said 
— **  Good-night,  missus !  " 


282  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 
AT  COLPUS'S. 

On  the  morrow  Mehetabel,  carrying  her  babe,  re- 
visited the  schoolmistress,  at  an  early  hour,  before  the 
children  assembled. 

Betty  Chivers  received  her  with  joy. 

''  Matabel,"  she  said,  "  I've  been  thinking  about  you. 
There's  James  Colpus  and  his  daughter  are  in  want  of 
a  woman.  That  girl,  Julia  Caesar,  as  has  been  with 
them,  got  at  the  barrels  of  ale,  and  has  been  givin* 
drink  all  round  to  the  men,  just  when  they  liked. 
She'd  got  a  key  to  the  cellar  unbeknown  to  Master 
Colpus  ;  so  she  has  had  to  walk  off.  Polly  Colpus,  she 
knows  you  well  enough,  and  what  a  managing  girl  you 
are.  They  couldn't  do  better  than  take  you — that  is, 
if  they  can  arrange  with  Bideabout,  and  don't  object  to 
the  baby." 

Accordingly,  somewhat  later,  Mehetabel  departed  for 
the  farm  of  James  Colpus,  that  adjoined  the  land  occu- 
pied by  old  Simon  Verstage. 

James  Colpus  was  preparing  to  go  out  fox-hunting 
when  Mehetabel  arrived.  He  wore  a  tight,  dark-colored 
suit,  that  made  his  red  face  look  the  redder,  and  his 
foxy  hair  the  foxier.  His  daughter  had  a  face  like  a 
full  moon,  flat  and  eminently  livid ;  fair,  almost  white 
eyebrows,  and  an  unmistakable  moustache.  She  was 
extraordinarily  plain,  but  good-natured.  She  was 
pouring  out  currant  brandy  for  her  father  when  Me- 
hetabel arrived. 

"  Well !  "  exclaimed  Colpus.  "  Here  is  the  runaway 
wife.  Tally-ho  !  Tally-ho !  We've  got  her.  All  the 
parish  has  been  out  after  you,  and  you  run  to  earth 
here,  do  you  ?  " 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  283 

**  If  you  please,"  said  Mehetabel,  "  I  have  come  to 
offer  my  services  in  the  place  of  Julia  Caesar,  who  has 
been  sent  away.  You  know  I  can  work.  You  know 
I  won't  let  nobody  have  the  tap  o'  the  beer — and  as 
for  wages,  I'll  take  what  you  are  willing  to  give." 

"That's  all  very  fine,  Miss  Runaway,  but  what  will 
Bideabout  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  going  back  to  Bideabout,"  answered 
Mehetabel.  *'  If  you  cannot  take  me,  I  shall  go  to 
every  farm  and  offer  myself,  and  if  none  in  Thursley  or 
Witley  will  have  me,  I'll  beg  my  bread  from  door  to 
door,  till  I  do  find  a  house  where  I  may  honestly  earn 
it.     Go  back  to  the  Punch-Bowl  I  will  not." 

"  I'd  like  to  take  you,"  said  Colpus.  "  Glad  to  have 
you.  Never  a  better  girl  anywhere,  of  that  I  am  quite 
certain — only,  how  about  the  Broom-Squire  ?  I'm  con- 
stable, and  it  must  not  be  said  that  the  constable  is 
keeping  a  man's  wife  away  from  him." 

"  You  will  not  keep  me  from  him.  Nothing  in  the 
world  will  make  me  go  back  to  him." 

"  Then — what  about  the  baby  ?  Can  you  let  Bide- 
about  have  that  ?  " 

Mehetabel  flushed  almost  as  red  as  Colpus  and  his 
daughter. 

"  Never !  "  she  said,  firmly. 

"  But,  look  here,"  said  the  farmer,  "  if  I  did  agree  to 
take  you,  why,  after  a  day  or  two,  you'd  be  homesick, 
and  wantin'  to  be  back  in  the  arms  of  Jonas.  It's 
always  so  with  women." 

"  I  shall  never  go  back,"  persisted  Mehetabel. 

"  So  you  say.  But  before  the  week  is  out  you'll  be 
piping  another  song." 

*'  You  may  bind  me  to  stay — three  months — six — a 
year." 

"  That  is  all  very  well  to  say.  Bind  me,  but  how  ? 
What  bind  will  hold — when  the  marriage  tie  does  not  ?  " 

"  The  marriage  tie  would  have  held  me  till  death," 
answered  Mehetabel  gravely,  **  if  Jonas  had  not  done 
that  which  makes  it  impossible  for  me  to  remain.  It 
is  not  for  my  sake  that  I  am  away.     Had  I  been  alone 


284  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

I  would  have  borne  all  till  I  died.  But  I  have  other 
duties  now.  I  am  a  mother.  Here  is  my  darling,  a 
charge  from  God.  I  owe  it  to  God  to  do  what  I  am 
here  for — to  find  another  home,  a  place  away  from  the 
Punch-Bowl." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  cannot  explain." 

"  Is  the  Punch-Bowl  unhealthy  for  the  child  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  it  would  die  there." 

"  Who  told  you  so  ?  " 

"  I  know  it.     My  heart  says  so." 

"  Now  look  here,"  said  Colpus,  getting  red  as  a 
poppy,  '*  there's  a  lot  of  talk  in  the  place  about  you. 
Some  say  that  Bideabout  is  in  the  wrong,  some  say 
that  the  wrong  lies  with  you.  It  is  reported  that  he 
beat  you,  and  there  are  folks  that  tell  as  how  you  gave 
him  occasion.  You  must  let  me  know  the  right  of  it 
all,  or  I  can't  take  you." 

"  Then  I  must  go,"  said  Mehetabel,  "  I  cannot  tell 
you  all.  You  may  think  ill  of  me  if  you  choose,  I  cannot 
help  that." 

Colpus  rubbed  his  foxy  whiskers  and  head. 

"You're  a  won'erful  active  woman,  and  do  more 
work  than  three  ordinary  gals.  I'd  like  to  have  you 
in  the  house.  But  then — what  am  I  to  say  if  Kink 
comes  to  claim  you  ?  " 

"  Say  you  will  not  give  me  up." 

"  But  I  ain't  so  sure  but  what  he  can  force  me  to 
surrender  you." 

"  You  are  the  strongest  man  in  Thursley." 

"  'Tain't  that,"  said  Colpus,  gratified  by  the  compli- 
ment. "  *Tis  he  might  bring  the  law  against  me.  I 
don't  know  nuthin'  about  law,  though  I'm  constable, 
but  I  reckon,  if  I  was  to  keep  a  cow  of  his  as  had  strayed 
and  refused  to  give  her  up,  he  could  compel  me.  And 
what's  true  of  a  cow  is  true  of  a  wife.  If  I  could  be 
punished  for  stealin'  his  goose  I  might  be  summonsed 
all  on  account  of  you.  Then  there's  the  babe — that 
might  be  brought  in  as  kidnappin' !     I  daren't  risk  it." 

"  But,  father,"  put  in  Polly.  "  How  would  it  do  for 
a  time,  just  to  try." 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  285 

"  There's  something  in  that,  Polly.*' 

**  And  Julia  Caesar  have  left  things  in  a  terrible  mess. 
We  must  have  all  cleared  up  before  another  comes  in. 
What  if  we  take  Matabel  by  the  day  to  clear  up  ?  " 

''  Look  here,  Polly,"  said  Colpus,  who  visibly  oscil- 
lated in  mind  between  his  wishes  to  engage  Mehetabel 
and  his  fears  as  to  what  the  consequences  might  be. 
"  It's  this,"  he  touched  his  forehead,  and  made  a  sign 
towards  the  applicant.     "  Folk  do  say  it." 

"  Matabel,"  said  the  good-natured  farmer's  daughter, 
"you  go  along  to  Thursley,  and  father  and  I  will  talk 
it  over.  If  we  think  we  can  take  you — where  shall  we 
send  to  find  you  ?  " 

"  To  Betty  Chivers*  house." 

**  Well,  in  half  an  hour  I  trust  we  shall  have  decided. 
Now  go." 

As  Mehetabel  withdrew,  Polly  said,  "  It's  all  gammon, 
father,  about  her  not  being  right  in  her  head.  Her  eye 
is  as  steady  as  the  evenin'  star.  And  it's  all  lies  about 
there  bein'  any  fault  in  her.  Matabel  is  as  honest  and 
true  as  sunlight." 

Then  old  Colpus  shouted  after  Mehetabel,  who  was 
departing  by  the  lane.  *'  Don't  go  that  way,  over  the 
field  is  the  path — by  the  stile.  There's  a  lot  o'  water 
in  the  lane." 

The  young  mother  turned,  thanked  him  with  an  in- 
clination of  the  head,  and  pressing  her  cheek  to  the 
child  she  bore,  she  took  the  path  that  crossed  a  meadow, 
and  which  led  to  a  tuft  of  holly,  near  which  was  the 
stile,  into  the  lane.  She  walked  on,  with  her  cheek 
resting  on  the  child's  head,  and  her  eyes  on  the  trod- 
den, cropped  wintry  grass,  with  a  flutter  of  hope  in  her 
bosom  ;  for  she  was  almost  certain  that  with  the  influ- 
ence of  Polly  engaged  on  her  side,  old  Colpus  would 
agree  to  receive  her. 

She  did  not  walk  swiftly.  She  had  no  occasion  for 
haste.  She  hoped  that  the  objections  of  the  farmer 
would  give  way  before  she  had  reached  the  hedge,  and 
that  he  would  recall  her. 

She  had  almost  arrived  at  the  turf  of  holly,  singing 


286  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

in  a  low  tone  to  the  child  in  her  arms,  whc4i  a  voice 
made  her  start  and  cry  out. 

She  looked  up.     Jonas  was  before  her. 

Unobserved  by  her  he  had  entered  the  field.  From 
the  lane  he  had  seen  her,  and  he  had  crossed  the  stile 
and  come  upon  her. 

She  stood  frozen  to  the  spot.  Each  muscle  became 
rigid;  the  blood  in  her  arteries  tingled  as  though  bees 
were  making  their  way  through  every  vein.  Her  brows 
met  in  a  black  band  across  her  face.  She  trembled  for 
a  moment,  and  then  was  firm.  A  supreme  moment, 
the  supreme  moment  in  her  life  was  come. 

"  So  I  have  found  you  at  last,"  sneered  Jonas.  Hatred, 
fury,  were  in  him  and  sent  a  quiver  through  the  tones 
of  his  voice. 

"  Yes,  you  have  found  me,"  she  answered  with  com- 
posure. 

"  You — do  you  know  what  you  have  done  ?  Made 
me  a  derision  and  a  talk  to  all  Thursley,  a  jest  in  every 
pot-house." 

"  I  have  not  done  this.     It  is  your  doing." 

"  Is  it  not  enough  that  I  have  lost  my  money,  but 
must  I  have  this  scandal  and  outrage  in  my  home  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer  him.  She  looked  steadily  at  him, 
and  he  dared  not  meet  her  eyes. 

"You  must  come  with  me  at  once,"  he  said. 

"  I  will  not  go  with  you." 

"  I  will  make  you." 

"  That  you  cannot.** 

"  You  are  mad.     You  must  be  put  under  restraint." 

"  I  will  go  to  the  madhouse,  but  not  to  the  Punch- 
Bowl." 

"  You  shall  be  forced  to  return." 

"How?" 

"  I  will  have  you  tied.  I  will  swear  you  are  crazed. 
I  will  have  you  locked  up,  and  I  will  beat  you  till  you 
learn  to  obey  and  behave  as  I  would  have  you." 

"  Jonas,"  said  Mehetabel,  "  this  i§  idle  talk.     Never, 
never  will  I  go  back  to  you.*' 
.  "Never!"  "' 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  287 

He  approached,  his  eyes  glaring,  his  white  fangs 
showing,  Hke  those  of  a  dog  about  to  bite. 

Instinctively  she  put  her  hand  into  her  pocket  and 
drew  forth  a  lump  of  ironstone,  that  she  had  bran- 
dished the  previous  evening  before  Sally  Rocliffe  and 
Giles  Cheel ;  and  which  she  carried  with  her  as  her  only 
weapon  of  defence. 

**  Jonas,"  said  Mehetabel.  "You  may  threaten,  but 
your  threats  do  not  move  me.     I  can  defend  myself." 

"  Oh,  with  a  stone  ?  "  he  scoffed. 

"  Yes,  if  need  be  with  a  stone.  But  I  have  better 
protection  than  that." 

"  Indeed — let  me  hear  it." 

"  If  you  venture  to  touch  me— venture  to  threaten 
any  more — then  I  shall  appeal  for  protection." 

"  To  whom — to  Iver  ?  " 

"  Not  to  Iver,"  her  heart  boiled  up,  and  was  still  again. 

''  To  whom — to  Farmer  Colpus  ?  " 

''To  the  law." 

"  The  law  !  "  jeered  Jonas.  **  It  is  the  law  that 
will  send  you  back  to  me." 

"  It  is  the  law  which  will  protect  me  from  you," 
answered  Mehetabel. 

"  I  am  fain  to  learn  how." 

"  How  !  I  have  but  to  go  before  a  magistrate  and 
tell  how  you  tried  to  poison  your  own  child — how, 
when  that  failed,  you  tried  to  smother  it.  And, 
Jonas,"  she  added — as  she  saw  his  face  grow  ashen, 
and  a  foam  bubble  form  on  his  lips — *'  and,  Jonas," 
she  stepped  forward,  and  he  backed — his  glassy  eyes 
on  her  face,  "  and,  Jonas,"  she  said,  ''  look  here,  I  have 
this  stone.  With  the  like  of  this  you  sought  to  kill 
me  in  the  moor."  She  raised  it  above  her  head,  ''you 
would-be  murderer  of  your  wife  and  your  child — I  am 
free  from  you."  She  took  another  step  forward- — he 
reeled  back  and  vanished — disappeared  instantly  from 
her  sight  with  a  scream— instantly  and  absolutely,  as 
when  the  earth  opened  its  mouth  at  the  word  of  Moses 
and  swallowed  up  Korah. 


288  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

AGAIN:  IRONSTONE. 

Mehetabel  heard  shouts,  exclamations,  and  saw 
Thomas  Rocliffe  and  his  son,  Samuel,  come  up  over 
the  stile  from  the  lane,  and  James  Colpus  running 
towards  her. 

What  had  happened  ?  Whither  had  Jonas  vanished  ? 
She  drew  back  and  passed  her  hand,  still  holding  the 
ironstone,  over  her  face. 

Then  she  saw  Thomas  and  Samuel  stoop,  kneel,  and 
Thomas  swing  himself  down  and  also  disappear ;  there- 
upon up  came  the  farmer. 

''  What  is  it  ?     Has  he  fallen  in— into  the  kiln  ?  ** 

That  the  reader  may  understand  what  had  occurred, 
it  is  necessary  that  a  few  words  of  explanation  should 
be  given. 

At  the  time  when  the  country  was  densely  wooded 
with  oaks,  then  the  farmers  were  wont  annually  to 
draw  chalk  from  the  quarries  in  the  flank  of  the  Hog's 
Back,  that  singular  ridge,  steep  as  a  Gothic  roof,  run- 
ning east  and  west  from  Guildford,  and  to  cart  this  to 
their  farms.  On  each  of  these  was  a  small  brick  kiln, 
constructed  in  a  sand-bank  beside  a  lane,  so  that  the 
chalk  and  fuel  might  be  thrown  in  from  above,  where 
the  top  of  the  kiln  was  level  with  the  field,  and  the 
burnt  quicklime  drawn  out  below  and  shovelled  into 
a  cart  that  would  convey  it  by  the  road  to  whatever 
field  was  thought  to  require  such  a  dressing. 

But  fuel  became  scarce,  and  when  the  trees  had 
vanished,  then  sea  coal  was  introduced.  Thereupon 
the  farmers  found  it  more  convenient  to  purchase 
quicklime  at  the  kiln  mouth  near  the  chalk  quarry, 
than  to  cart  the  chalk  and  burn  it  themselves. 

The  private  kilns  were  accordingly  abandoned  and 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  289 

allowed  to  fall  to  ruin.  Some  were  prudently  filled  in 
with  earth  and  sand,  but  this  was  exceptional.  The 
majority  were  allowed  to  crumble  in  slowly ;  and  at 
the  present  day  such  abandoned  kilns  may  be  found 
on  all  sides,  in  various  stages  of  decay. 

Into  such  a  kiln,  that  had  not  been  filled  in,  Jonas 
had  fallen,  when  he  stepped  backwards,  unconscious 
of  its  existence. 

Polly  Colpus  had  followed  her  father,  but  kept  in 
the  rear,  alarmed,  and  dreading  a  ghastly  sight.  The 
farmer  bent  with  hands  on  his  knees  over  the  hole. 
Samuel  knelt. 

"  Have  you  got  him  ?  "  asked  Colpus. 

"  Lend  a  hand,"  called  Thomas  from  below,  and 
with  the  assistance  of  those  above  the  body  of  Jonas 
Kink  was  lifted  on  to  the  bank. 

"  He's  dead,"  said  the  farmer. 

Then  Mehetabel  laughed. 

The  three  men  and  Polly  Colpus  turned  and  looked 
at  her  with  estrangement. 

They  did  not  understand  that  there  was  neither 
mockery  nor  frivolity  in  the  laugh,  that  it  proceeded 
involuntarily  from  the  sudden  relaxation  of  over- 
strained nerves.  At  the  moment  Mehetabel  was  aware 
of  one  thing  only,  that  she  had  nothing  more  to  fear, 
that  her  baby  was  safe  from  pursuit.  It  was  this 
thought  that  dominated  her  and  caused  the  laugh  of 
relief.  She  had  not  in  the  smallest  degree  realized 
how  it  was  that  this  relief  was  obtained. 

"  Fetch  a  hurdle,"  said  Colpus,  "  and,  Polly,  run  in 
and  send  a  couple  of  men.  We  must  carry  him  to 
the  Punch-Bowl.  I  reckon  he's  pretty  well  done  for. 
I  don't  see  a  sign  of  life  in  him." 

The  Broom-Squire  was  laid  on  the  grass. 

Strange  is  the  effect  of  death  on  a  man's  clothes. 
The  moment  the  vital  spark  has  left  the  body,  the 
garments  hang  about  him  as  though  never  made  to  fit 
him.  They  take  none  of  the  usual  folds  ;  they  lose 
their  gloss — it  is  as  though  life  had  departed  out  of 
them  as  well. 


290  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

Mehetabel  seated  herself  on  a  bit  of  swelling  ground 
and  looked  on,  without  understanding  what  she  saw ; 
seeing,  hearing,  as  in  a  dream  ;  and  after  the  first 
spasm  of  relief,  as  if  what  was  being  done  in  no  way 
concerned  her,  belonged  to  another  world  to  her  own. 
It  was  as  though  she  were  in  the  moon  and  saw  what 
men  were  doing  on  the  earth. 

When  the  Broom-Squire  had  been  lifted  upon  a 
hurdle,  then  Polly  Colpus  thought  right  to  touch 
Mehetabel,  and  say  in  a  low  tone :  "  You  will  follow 
him  and  go  to  the  Punch-Bowl  ?  " 

"  I  will  never,  never  go  there  again.  I  have  said  so,*' 
answered  Mehetabel. 

Then  to  avoid  being  pressed  further,  she  stood  up 
and  went  away,  bearing  her  child  in  her  arms. 

The  men  looked  after  her  and  shook  their  heads. 

"  Bideabout  has  had  a  blow  on  the  forehead,"  said 
Colpus. 

Mehetabel  returned  to  the  school,  entered  without  a 
word,  and  seated  herself  by  the  fire. 

"  Have  you  succeeded  ?  "  asked  the  widow. 

"  How  ?  " 

"  Will  Farmer  Colpus  take  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  What  have  you  in  your  hand  ?  " 

Mehetabel  opened  her  fingers  and  allowed  Betty 
Chivers  to  remove  from  her  hand  a  lump  of  ironstone. 

"  What  are  you  carrying  this  for,  Matabel  ?  " 

"  I  defend  baby  with  it,"  she  answered. 

"  Well,  you  do  not  need  it  in  my  house,"  said  the 
dame,  and  placed  the  liver-colored  lump  on  the  table. 

''  How  hot  your  hand  is,"  she  continued.  "  Here, 
let  me  feel  again.  It  is  burning.  And  your  forehead 
is  the  same.     Are  you  unwell,  Matabel  ?  " 

''  J  am  cold,"  she  answered  dreamily. 

*'  You  have  been  over-worried  and  worked,"  said  the 
kind  old  woman.     "  I  will  get  you  a  cup  of  tea." 

"  He  won't  follow  me  any  more  and  try  to  take  my 
baby  away,"  said  Mehetabel. 

"  I  am  glad  of  that." 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  291 

"  And  I  also." 

Then  she  moved  her  seat,  winding  and  bending  on 
one  side. 

"  What  is  it,  my  dear  ?  "  asked  Betty. 

"  His  shadow.     It  will  follow  me  and  fall  over  baby." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  '* 

Mehetabel  made  no  reply,  and  the  widow  buried 
herself  in  preparation  for  the  midday  meal,  a  very 
humble  one  of  bread  and  weak  tea. 

"  There's  drippin'  In  the  bowl,"  she  said,  "you  can 
put  some  o*  that  on  the  bread.  And  now,  give  me  the 
little  chap.     You  are  not  afraid  of  trusting  him  to  me  ?  " 

"Oh,  no!" 

The  mother  at  once  surrendered  the  child,  and  Mrs. 
Chivers  sat  by  the  fire  with  the  infant  in  her  lap. 

"  He's  very  like  you,"  she  said. 

"  I  couldn't  love  him  if  he  were  like  him,"  said 
Mehetabel. 

"You  must  not  say  that." 

"  He  is  a  bad  man." 

"  Leave  God  to  judge  him." 

"  He  has  judged  him,"  answered  the  girl,  looking 
vacantly  into  the  fire,  and  then  passed  her  hand  over 
her  eyes  and  pressed  her  brow. 

"  Have  you  a  headache,  dear?" 

"  Yes — bad.  It  is  his  shadow  has  got  in  there — 
rolled  up,  and  I  can't  shake  it  out." 

"  Matabel — you  must  go  to  bed.     You  are  not  well." 

"  No — I  am  not  well.     But  my  baby  ?  '* 

"  He  is  safe  with  me.** 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,  you  will  teach  him  ABC,  and 
the  Creed,  and  to  pray  to  and  fear  God.  But  you 
needn't  teach  him  to  find  Abelmeholah  on  the  map, 
nor  how  many  gallons  of  water  the  Jordan  carries  into 
the  Dead  Sea  every  minute,  nor  how  many  generations 
there  are  in  Matthew.  That  is  all  no  good  at  all. 
Nor  does  it  matter  where  is  the  country  of  the  Ger- 
gesenes.  I  have  tried  it.  The  Vicar  was  a  good 
man,  was  he  not,  Betty  ?  " 

"  Yes,  very  good." 


292  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

"  He  would  give  the  coat  off  his  back,  and  the  bread 
out  of  his  mouth  to  the  poor.  He  gave  beef  and  phim 
pudding  all  around  at  Christmas,  and  lent  out  blankets 
in  winter.  But  he  never  gave  anything  to  the  soul, 
did  he,  Betty  ?  Never  made  the  heart  warm.  I  found 
it  so.     What  I  got  of  good  for  that  was  from  you." 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  old  woman,  starting  up.  "  I 
insist  on  your  going  to  bed  at  once.  I  see  by  your 
eye,  by  the  fire  in  your  cheek,  that  you  are  ill." 

*'  I  will  go  to  bed  ;  I  do  not  want  anything  to  eat, 
only  to  lay  my  head  down,  and  then  the  shadow  will 
run  out  at  my  ear — only  I  fear  it  may  stain  the  pillow. 
When  Vm  rich  I  will  buy  you  another.  Baby  is  rich ; 
he  has  got  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds.  What  is  his 
is  mine,  and  what  is  mine  is  his.  He  will  not  grudge 
you  a  new  pillow-case." 

Mehetabel,  usually  reserved  and  silent,  had  become 
loquacious  and  rambling  in  her  talk.  It  was  but  too 
obvious,  that  she  was  in  a  fever,  and  wandering.  Mrs. 
Chivers  insisted  on  her  taking  some  tea,  and  then  she 
helped  her  upstairs  to  the  little  bedroom,  and  did  not 
leave  her  till  she  was  asleep.  The  school  children,  who 
came  in  after  their  dinner  hour,  were  dismissed,  so  that 
Mrs.  Chivers  had  the  afternoon  to  devote  to  the  care  of 
the  child  and  of  the  sick  mother,  who  was  in  high  fever. 

She  was  in  the  bedroom  when  she  heard  a  knock  at 
the  door,  and  then  a  heavy  foot  below.  She  descended 
the  rickety  stairs  as  gently  as  possible,  and  found 
Farmer  Colpus  in  the  schoolroom. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Chivers  ?  Can  you  tell  me, 
is  Matabel  Kink  here  ?  "* 

*'  Yes — if  you  do  not  mind,  Mr.  Colpus,  to  speak  a 
little  lower.     She  is  in  bed  and  asleep." 

'*  Asleep?" 

"  She  came  in  at  noon,  rather  excited  and  queer,  and 
her  hand  burnin*  like  a  hot  chestnut,  so  I  gave  her  a 
dish  o'  tea  and  sent  her  upstairs.  I  thought  it  might 
be  fever — and  her  eyes  were  that  strange  and  un- 
steady  " 

"  It  is  rather  odd,"  said  the  constable,  "  but  my  daugh- 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  293 

ter  observed  how  calm  and  clear  her  eye  was — only  an 
hour  before." 

"  Maybe,"  said  Mrs.  Chivers,  "  and  yet  she  was  that 
won'erful  wanderin*  in  her  speech " 

"  You  don't  think  she  was  shamming  ?  " 

"  Shammin' !  Lord,  sir — that  Matabel  never  did, 
and  I've  knowed  her  since  she  was  two-year  old.  At 
three  and  a  half  she  comed  to  my  school." 

"  By  the  way,  what  is  that  stone  on  your  table  ?  " 
asked  Colpus. 

"That,  sir?  Matabel  had  it  in  her  hand  when  she 
comed  in.  I  took  it  away,  and  then  I  felt  how  burnin' 
she  was,  like  a  fire." 

"  Oh !  she  was  still  holding  that  stone.  Did  she  say 
anything  about  it  ?  " 

**  Yes,  sir,  she  said  that  she  used  it  to  defend  herself 
and  baby." 

"  From  whom  ?  ** 

"  She  didn't  say — but  you  know,  sir,  there  has  been 
a  bit  of  tiff  between  her  and  the  Broom-Squire,  and  she 
won't  hear  of  goin'  back  to  the  Punch-Bowl,  and  she 
has  a  fancy  he  wants  to  take  the  baby  away  from  her. 
That's  ridic'lous,  of  course.  But  there  is  no  getting  the 
idea  out  of  her  head." 

"  I  must  see  her." 

"You  can't  speak  to  her,  sir.  She  is  asleep  still." 
Colpus  considered. 

"  I'll  ask  you  to  allow  me  to  take  this  stone  away, 
Betty.  And  I  must  immediately  send  for  the  doctor. 
He  has  been  sent  for  to  the  Punch-Bowl,  and  I'll  stop 
him  on  the  way  back  to  Godalming.  I  must  be  assured 
that  Matabel  is  in  a  fit  state  to  be  removed." 

"  Removed,  whither  ?  " 

"  To  the  lock-up." 

"  The  lock-up,  sir  ?  " 

"  To  the  lock-up.  Do  you  know,  Mrs.  Chivers,  that 
Jonas  Kink  is  dead,  and  that  very  strong  suspicions 
attach  to  Matabel,  that  she  killed  him?" 

"  Matabel  killed  him  !  " 

"  Yes,  with  that  very  stone." 


294  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 
IN  HOPE. 

When  the  surgeon,  on  his  return  from  the  Punch- 
Bowl  was  called  in  to  see  Mehetabel,  he  at  once  certi- 
fied that  she  was  not  in  a  condition  to  be  removed,  and 
that  she  would  require  every  possible  attention  for 
several  days. 

Accordingly,  James  Colpus  allowed  her  to  remain  at 
the  Dame's  School,  but  cautioned  Betty  Chivers  that 
he  should  hold  her  responsible  for  the  appearance  of 
Mehetabel  when  required. 

Jonas  Kink  was  not  dead,  as  Colpus  thought  when 
lifted  out  of  the  kiln  into  which  he  had  been  precipitated 
backwards,  but  he  had  received  several  blows  on  the 
head  which  had  broken  in  the  skull  and  stunned  him. 
Had  there  been  a  surgeon  at  hand  to  relieve  the  press- 
ure on  the  brain,  he  might  perhaps  have  recovered, 
but  there  was  none  nearer  than  Godalming  ;  the  surgeon 
was  out  when  the  messenger  arrived,  and  did  not  return 
till  late,  then  he  was  obliged  to  get  a  meal,  and  hire  a 
horse,  as  his  own  was  tired,  and  by  the  time  he  arrived 
at  the  Punch-Bowl  Jonas  had  ceased  to  breathe,  and  all 
he  could  do  was  to  certify  his  death  and  the  cause 
thereof. 

Mehetabel's  nature  was  vigorous  and  elastic  with 
youth.  She  recovered  rapidly,  more  so,  indeed  than 
Mrs.  Chivers  would  allow  to  James  Colpus,  as  she  was 
alarmed  at  the  prospect  of  having  to  break  to  her  that  a 
warrant  was  issued  against  her  on  the  charge  of  murder. 

When  she  did  inform  her,  Mehetabel  could  not 
believe  what  she  was  told. 

**  That  is  purely,"  she  said.  "  I  kill  Jonas  !  If  he 
had  touched  me  and  tried  to  take  baby  away  I  might 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  .  295 

have  done  it.  I  would  have  fought  him  like  a  tiger, 
as  I  did  before." 

"  When  did  you  fight  him  ?  " 

"  In  the  Moor,  by  Thor's  Stone,  over  the  gun — there 
when  the  shot  went  off  into  his  arm." 

"  I  never  knew  much  of  that,  though  there  was  at  the 
time  some  talk." 

"  Yes.  I  need  say  nothing  of  that  now.  But  as  to 
hurting  Jonas,  I  never  hurted  nobody  in  rriy  life  save 
myself,  and  that  was  when  I  married  him.  I  don't 
believe  I  could  kill  a  fly — and  then  only  if  it  were  teasin' 
baby." 

"  There  is  Joe  Filmer  downstairs,  has  somethin'  to 
say.     Can  he  come  up  ?  " 

'*  Yes,"  answered  Mehetabel.  "  He  was  always  kind 
to  me." 

The  ostler  of  the  Ship  stumbled  up  the  stairs  and 
saluted  the  sick  girl  with  cordiality  and  respect. 

*'  Very  sorry  about  this  little  affair,  'Tis  a  pity,  I 
sez,  that  such  a  fuss  be  made  over  trifles.  There's  been 
the  crownin'  of  the  body,  and  now  there's  to  be  the 
hearin'  of  you  afore  the  magistrates,  and  then  they  say 
you'll  have  to  go  to  the  'sizez,  and  there'll  come  the 
hangin'.  '  Tis  terrible  lot  o'  fuss  all  about  Jonas  as 
wasn't  worth  it.  No  one'll  miss  him  and  if  you  did  kill 
him,  well,  there  was  cause,  and  I  don't  think  the  wuss 
o'  you  for  it." 

"  Thank  you,  Joe,  but  I  did  not  kill  him." 

"  Well — you  know — it's  right  for  you  to  say  so,  'cos 
you'll  have  to  plead  not  guilty.  Polly,  at  our  place 
never  allows  she's  broke  nothin',  but  the  chinay  and  the 
pipkins  have  got  a  terrible  way  of  committin'  felo  de 
se  since  she  came  to  the  Ship.  She  always  sez  she 
didn't  do  it — and  right  enough.  No  one  in  this  free 
country  is  obliged  to  incriminate  hisself.  That's  one 
of  our  glorious  institootions." 

"  I  really  am  guiltless,"  urged  Mehetabel. 

"  Quite  right  you  should  say  so.  Pleased  to  hear  it. 
But  I  don't  know  what  the  magistrates  will  say.  Most 
folks  here  sez  you  did,  and  all  the   Punch-Bowl  will 


296  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

swear  it.  They  sez  you  tried  to  kill  him  wi*  his  own 
gun,  but  didn't  succeed  as  you  wished,  so  now  you 
knocked  him  on  the  head  effectual  like,  and  tippled  his 
dead  body  down  into  the  kiln.  He  was  an  aggravatin* 
chap,  was  Bideabout,  and  deserved  it.  But  that  is  not 
what  I  come  here  to  say." 

"  And  that  was " 

"  Well,  now,  I  mustn't  say  it  too  loud.  I  just  slipped 
in  when  nobody  was  about,  as  I  don't  want  it  to  be 
known  as  I  am  here.  The  master  and  I  settled  it  be- 
tween us." 

"Settled  what,  Joe?" 

"You  see  he  always  had  a  wonderful  liking  for  you, 
and  so  had  I.  He  was  agin  you  marryin'  the  Broom- 
Squire,  but  the  missus  would  have  it  so.  Now  he's 
goyne  to  send  me  with  the  trap  to  Portsmouth.  He's 
had  orders  for  it  from  a  gent  as  be  comin'  wild  fowl 
shootin'  in  the  Moor.  So  my  notion  is  I'll  drive  by 
here  in  the  dark,  and  you'll  be  ready,  and  come  along 
wi'  me,  takin'  the  baby  with  you,  and  I'll  whip  you  off 
to  Portsmouth,  and  nobody  a  penny  the  wiser.  I've 
got  a  married  sister  there — got  a  bit  o'  a  shop,  and  I'll 
take  you  to  her,  and  if  you  don't  mind  a  bit  o'  non- 
sense, I'll  say  you're  my  wife  and  that's  my  baby. 
Then  you  can  stay  there  till  all  is  quiet.  I've  a  notion 
as  Master  Colpus  be  comin*  to  arrest  you  to-morrow, 
and  that  would  be  comical  games.  If  you  will  come 
along  wi'  me,  and  let  me  pass  you  off  as  I  sed,  then  you 
can  lie  hid  till  the  wind  has  changed.  It's  a  beautiful 
plan.  I  talked  it  over  with  the  master,  and  he's  agree- 
able ;  and  as  to  money — well,  he  put  ten  pound  into 
my  hand  for  you,  and  there's  ten  pound  of  my  wages 
I've  saved  and  hid  in  the  thatchin'  of  the  cow-stall,  and 
have  no  use  for  ;  that's  twenty  pound,  and  will  keep 
you  and  the  baby  goin'  for  a  while,  and  when  that's 
done  I  daresay  there'll  be  more  to  be  had." 

"  I  thank  you,  Joe,"  began  Mehetabel,  the  tears 
rising  in  her  eyes. 

He  cut  her  short.  "  The  master  don't  want  Polly  to 
know  nothin'  of  it.     Polly's  been  able  to  get  the  mastery 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  297 

in  the  house.  She's  got  the  keys,  and  she's  a'most  got 
the  old  chap  under  lock.  But  it's  my  experience  as 
fellows  when  they  get  old  get  won'erful  artful,  and 
master  may  be  under  her  thumb  in  most  things,  but 
not  all.  And  he  don't  fancy  the  notion  of  your  bein' 
hanged.  So  he  gave  me  that  ten  pound,  and  when  I 
sed  I'd  drive  you  away  afore  the  constable  had  you — 
why,  he  just  about  jumped  out  o*  his  breeches  wi'  joy. 
Only  the  first  thing  he  said  then  was — *  Not  a  word  to 
Polly.' " 

"  Indeed,  Joe,  you  are  good,  but  I  cannot  go." 

"  You  must  go  either  to  Portsmouth  or  to  Gorlmyn. 
You  may  be  a  free  woman,  but  in  hidin',  or  go  to 
prison.  There's  the  choice  before  you.  And  if  you 
b'ain't  a  fool,  I  know  what  you  will  take." 

"  I  do  not  think  it  right  to  run  away." 

**  Of  course  if  you  killed  him  deliberate,  then  you 
may  go  cheerful  like  and  be  hanged  for  it.  But  wot  I 
sez  and  most  sez,  but  they  in  the  Punch-Bowl,  is  that 
it  worn't  deliberate.  It  were  done  under  aggravatin' 
sarcumstances.  The  squatters  in  the  Bowl,  they  have 
another  tale.  They  say  you  tried  to  shoot  him,  and 
then  to  poison  him,  and  he  lived  in  fear  of  his  life  of 
you,  and  then  you  knocked  him  head  over  heels  into 
the  kiln,  and  served  him  right  is  my  doctrine,  and  I 
respect  you  for  it.  But  then — wot  our  people  in 
Thursley  sez  is  that  it'll  give  the  place  a  bad  name  if 
you're  hung  on  Hind  Head.  They've  had  three 
hangin'  there  already,  along  of  wot  they  did  to  your 
father.  And  to  have  another  might  damage  the  char- 
acter of  the  place.  I  don't  fancy  myself  that  farmer 
Colpus  is  mighty  keen  on  havin'  you  hanged." 

"  I  shall  not  be  hanged  when  I  am  guiltless,"  said 
Mehetabel. 

"  My  dear,"  answered  the  hostler,  **  it  all  depends 
not  on  what  you  are  but  on  what  the  judge  and  jury 
think,  and  that  depends  on  the  lawyers  what  they  say 
in  their  harangues.  There's  chances  in  all  these  things, 
and  the  chance  may  be  as  you  does  get  found  guilty 
and  be  sentenced  to  the  gallows.     It   might  cause  an 


298  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

unpleasantness  here,  and  that  you  would  wish  to  avoid. 
I  don't  say  as  even  Sally  Rocliffe  and  Thomas  would 
like  it,  for  you're  related  to  them  somehow,  and  I'm 
quite  sure  as  Thursley  villagers  won't  like  it,  cos  we've 
all  respected  you  and  have  held  Jonas  cheap.  And 
why  we  should  have  you  hanged  becos  he's  dead — 
that's  unanswerable  I  say.  So  I'll  be  round  after  dark 
and  drive  you  to  Portsmouth." 

"  No,  indeed,  I  cannot  go." 

"  You  can  think  it  over.  What  about  the  little  chap, 
the  baby?  If  they  hang  you,  that'll  be  wuss  for  him 
than  it  was  for  you.  For  you  it  were  bad  enough, 
because  you  had  three  men  hanged  all  along  of  your 
father,  but  for  he  it'll  be  far  more  serious  when  he  goes 
about  the  world  as  the  chap  as  had  his  mother  hanged." 

"Joe,  you  insist  on  imagining  the  worst.  It  cannot, 
it  will  not,  be  that  I  shall  be  condemned  when  guiltless." 

"  If  I  was  you  I'd  make  sure  I  wasn't  ketched," 
urged  the  hostler.  "You  may  be  quite  certain  that 
the  master  will  do  what  he  can  for  you  ;  but  I  must 
say  this,  he  is  that  under  Polly  that  you  can't  depend 
on  him.  There  was  old  Clutch  on  the  day  when  Bide- 
about  was  killed.  The  doctor  came  from  Gorlmyn  on 
a  hired  hoss,  and  it  was  the  gray  mare  from  the  inn 
there.  Well,  old  Clutch  seems  to  have  found  it  out, 
and  with  his  nose  he  lifted  the  latch  of  the  stable-door 
and  got  out,  and  trotted  away  after  the  doctor  or  the 
old  mare  all  the  road  to  Gorlmyn ;  and  he's  there  now 
in  a  field  with  the  mare,  as  affable  as  can  be  with  her. 
It's  the  way  of  old  horses — and  what,  then,  can  you 
expect  of  old  men  ?  Polly  can  lead  the  master  where 
she  pleases." 

"  Joe,"  said  Mehetabel,  "  I  cannot  accept  your  kind 
ofTer.  Do  not  think  me  ungrateful.  I  am  touched  to 
the  heart.  But  I  will  not  attempt  to  run  away ;  that 
would  at  once  be  taken  as  a  token  that  I  was  guilty 
and  was  afraid  of  the  consequences.  I  will  not  do  any- 
thing to  give  .occasion  for  such  a  thought.  I  arn  not 
guilty,  and  will  act  as  an  innocent  person  would." 

"You  may  please  yourself/'  answered  Filmer;  "but 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  29^ 

if  you  don't  go,  I  shall  think  you  what  I  never  thought 
you  before — a  fool." 

"I  cannot  help  it;  I 'must  do  what  is  right,"  said 
Mehetabel.  "  But  I  shall  never  forget  your  kindness, 
Joe,  at  a  time  when  there  are  very  few  who  are  friends 
to  me." 

The  period  of  Mehetabel's  illness  had  been  a  trying  one 
for  the  infant,  and  its  health,  never  strong,  had  suffered. 
Happily,  the  little  children  who  came  to  the  Dame's 
school  were  ready  and  suitable  nurses  for  it.  A  child 
can  amuse  and  distract  a  babe  from  its  woes  in  an  ex- 
ceptional manner,  and  all  the  little  pupils  were  eager  to 
escape  A  B  C  by  acting  as  nurses." 

When  the  mother  was  better,  the  babe  also  recov- 
ered ;  but  it  was,  at  best,  a  puny,  frail  creature. 

Mehetabel  was  aware  how  feeble  a  life  was  that 
which  depended  on  her,  but  would  not  admit  it  to 
herself.  She  could  not  endure  to  have  the  deHcacy  of 
the  child  animadverted  upon.  She  found  excuses  for 
its  tears,  explanations  of  its  diminutive  size,  a  reason 
for  every  doubtful  sign — only  not  the  right  one.  She 
knew  she  was  deceiving  herself,  but  clung  to  the  one 
hope  that  filled  her — that  she  might  live  for  her  child, 
and  her  child  might  live  for  her. 

The  human  heart  must  have  hope.  That  is  as  nec- 
essary to  its  thriving  as  sun  is  to  the  flowers.  If  it  were 
not  for  the  spring  before  it,  the  flower-root  would  rot 
in  the  ground,  the  tree  canker  at  the  core ;  the  bird 
would  speed  south  never  to  return ;  the  insect  would 
not  retreat  under  shelter  in  the  rain ;  the  dormouse 
would  not  hibernate,  the  ant  collect  its  stores,  the  bee 
its  honey.  There  could  be  no  life  without  expecta- 
tion ;  and  a  life  without  hope  in  man  or  woman  is  that 
of  a  machine — not  even  that  of  an  animal.  Hope  is 
the  mainspring  of  every  activity ;  it  is  the  spur  to  all 
undertakings;  it  is  the  buttress  to  every  building ;  it 
runs  in  all  youthful  blood  ;  it  gives  buoyancy  to  every 
young  heart  and  vivacity  to  every  brain.  Mehetabel 
had  hope  in  her  now.  She  had  no  thought  for  herself 
save  how  it  concerned  her  child.  In  that  child  her 
hope  was  incorporate. 


300  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  XLVl. 
A  TROUBLED  HOPE. 

On  the  following  morning  Mehetabel  was  conveyed 
to  Godalming,  and  was  brought  before  the  magistrates, 
assembled  in  Petty  Sessions. 

She  was  in  no  great  anxiety.  She  knew  that  she 
was  innocent,  and  had  a  childlike,  childish  confidence 
that  innocence  must  come  out  clear  of  stain,  and  then 
only  guilt  suffered  punishment. 

Before  the  magistrates  this  confidence  of  hers  was 
rudely  shaken.  The  evidence  that  would  be  produced 
against  her  at  the  Assizes  was  gone  through  in  rough, 
as  is  always  done  in  these  cases,  and  the  charge  as- 
sumed a  gravity  of  complexion  that  astonished  and 
abashed  her.  That  she  and  her  husband  had  not  lived 
in  harmony  was  shown ;  also  that  he  had  asserted  that 
she  had  attempted  his  life  with  his  gun  ;  that  he  was 
afraid  she  would  poison  him  if  trusted  with  the  opiate 
prescribed  for  him  when  suffering  from  a  wound.  It 
was  further  shown  by  Giles  Cheel  and  Sarah  Rocliffe 
that  she  had  threatened  to  kill  her  husband  with  a 
stone,  if  not  that  actually  used  by  her,  and  then  on  the 
table,  by  one  so  like  it  as  to  be  hardly  distinguishable 
from  it.  This  threat  had  been  made  on  the  night  pre- 
vious to  the  death  of  Jonas  Kink.  On  the  morning 
she  had  encountered  her  husband  in  a  field  belonging 
to  Mr.  James  Colpus,  and  this  meeting  had  been  wit- 
nessed by  the  owner  of  the  field,  his  daughter,  and  by 
Thomas  Rocliffe  and  his  son  Samuel. 

Colpus  and  his  daughter  had  been  at  some  distance 
in  the  rear,  but  Thomas  and  Samuel  Rochffe  had  been 
close  by,  in  a  sunken  lane  ;  they  had  witnessed  the  meet- 
ing from  a  distance  of  under  thirty  feet,  and  were  so 
concealed  by  the  hedge  of  holly  and  the  bank  as  tq 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  301 

render  it  improbable  that  they  were  visible  to  the 
accused. 

James  Colpus  had  seen  that  an  altercation  took  place 
between  Mehetabel  and  the  deceased,  but  was  at  too 
great  a  distance  to  hear  what  was  said.  He  had  seen 
Mehetabel  raise  her  hand,  holding  something — what 
he  could  not  say — and  threaten  Jonas  with  it ;  but  he 
did  not  actually  see  her  strike  him,  because  at  that 
moment  he  turned  to  say  something  to  his  daughter. 

The  evidence  of  Mary  Colpus  was  to  much  the  same 
effect.  The  accused  had  come  to  her  to  ask  for  a  sit- 
uation vacant  in  the  house,  through  the  dismissal  of 
Julia  Caesar,  her  former  servant,  and  some  difficulty  had 
been  raised  as  to  her  reception,  on  account  of  the  doubt 
whether  Jonas  would  allow  his  wife  to  go  out  into 
service,  and  leave  her  home.  She  and  her  father  had 
promised  to  consider  the  matter,  and  with  this  under- 
standing Mehetabel  had  left,  carrying  her  babe. 

Just  as  she  reached  the  further  extremity  of  the  field, 
she  met  her  husband,  Jonas  Kink,  who  came  up  over 
the  stile,  out  of  the  lane,  apparently  unobserved  by 
Mehetabel;  for,  when  he  addressed  her,  she  started, 
drew  back,  and  thrust  her  hand  into  her  pocket  and 
pulled  out  a  stone.  With  this  she  threatened  to  strike 
him;  but  whether  she  carried  her  threat  into  execu- 
tion, or  what  occasioned  his  fall,  she  could  not  say, 
owing  to  her  father  having  spoken  to  her  at  that  mo- 
ment, and  she  had  diverted  her  eyes  from  the  two  in 
the  field  to  him.  When  next  she  looked  Jonas  had 
disappeared,  and  she  heard  the  shouts,  and  saw  the 
faces  of  Thomas  and  Samuel  Rocliffe,  as  they  came 
through  the  hedge. 

Then  her  father  said,  "  Something  has  happened  ! " 
and  started  running.  She  had  followed  at  a  distance, 
and  seen  the  Rocliffes  pull  the  body  of  Jonas  Kink  out 
of  the  kiln  and  lay  it  on  th^  grass. 

Thornas  Rocliffe  was  a  stupid  man,  and  the  magis- 
trates had  difficulty  with  him.  They  managed,  how- 
ever, to  extract  froni'him  the  following  statement  on 
oath : 


302  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

He  and  Samuel  had  been  out  the  previous  day  along 
with  Jonas  Kink,  his  brother-in-law,  looking  for  Mehet- 
abel.  Jonas  thought  she  had  gone  to  the  Moor  and 
had  drowned  herself,  and  he  had  said  he  did  not  care 
**  such  a  won'erful  sight  whether  she  had." 

On  the  morning  of  the  event  of  his  death  Jonas  had 
come  to  them,  and  asked  them  to  attend  him  again, 
and  from  what  he,  Thomas,  had  heard  from  Sally,  he 
said  that  they  had  been  on  the  wrong  scent  the  night 
before,  and  that  they  must  look  for  Matabel  nigher,  in 
or  about  the  village. 

They  had  gone  together,  he  and  Jonas  and  his  son 
Samuel,  along  the  lane  that  led  out  of  the  Punch-Bowl 
towards  Thursley  by  the  Colpus's  farm,  and  as  they 
went  along,  in  the  deep  lane,  Jonas  shouted  out  that 
he  saw  his  wife  coming  along.  Then  he,  Thomas  and 
Samuel  looked,  and  they  also  saw  her.  She  was  walk- 
ing very  slow,  and  "  was  cuddlin'  the  baby,"  and  did 
not  seem  to  know  where  she  was  going,  for  she  went 
wide  of  the  stile.  Then  Jonas  got  up  over  the  stile, 
and  told  Thomas  and  Samuel  to  bide  where  they  were 
till  he  called  them.  They  did  so,  and  saw  him  address 
Mehetabel,  who  was  surprised  when  he  spoke  to  her, 
and  then  something  was  said  between  them,  and  she 
pulled  a  big  stone  out  of  her  pocket  and  raised  it  over 
her  head,  stepped  forward,  *'  sharp-like,"  and  knocked 
him  with  it,  on  the  head,  so  that  he  fell  like  one  struck 
with  a  thunderbolt,  backward  into  the  kiln.  There- 
upon he  and  Samuel  came  up  over  the  hedge,  and  he 
jumped  into  the  kiln,  and  found  his  brother-in-law 
there,  huddled  up  in  a  heap  at  the  bottom.  He 
managed  with  difficulty  to  heave  him  out,  and  with 
the  assistance  of  Samuel  and  Farmer  Colpus,  to  lay 
him  on  the  grass,  when  all  three  supposed  he  was 
dead. 

When  they  said  that  he  was  dead,  then  Mehetabel 
laughed. 

This  statement  produced  a  comnlotion  in  court. 

Then' they  got  a  hurdle  or  gate,  he  couldn't  say 
which,  and  lifted  the    deceased  on  to  it  and  carried 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  303 

him  home  to  the  Punch-Bowl.  It  was  only  when 
they  laid  him  on  the  bed  that  they  saw  he  still 
breathed.  They  heard  him  groan,  and  he  moved  one 
hand — the  right.  He  was  rather  stiff  and  awkward 
with  his  left  since  his  accident. 

This  evidence  was  corroborated  at  every  point  by 
the  testimony  of  Samuel,  who  was  quite  positive  that 
Mehetabel  had  struck  Jonas  on  the  head.  Like  all 
stupid  people,  the  two  Rocliffes  were  ready  to  swear 
to  and  maintain  with  tenacity  those  points  which  were 
false  or  inaccurate,  and  to  hesitate  about  asserting  with 
confidence  such  as  were  true,  and  could  not  be  other 
than  true.  It  is  not  always  in  the  power  of  a  wise  and 
observant  man  to  discriminate  between  facts  and  im- 
agination, and  a  dull  and  undeveloped  intelligence  is 
absolutely  incapable  of  distinguishing  between  them. 

The  evidence  of  the  surgeon  was  to  the  effect  that 
Jonas  Kink  had  died  from  the  consequences  of  fracture 
of  the  skull,  but  whether  caused  by  a  blow  from  a  stone 
or  from  a  fall  he  was  unable  to  state.  There  were  con- 
tusions on  his  person.  He  probably  struck  his  head 
against  the  bricks  of  the  kiln  as  he  fell  or  was  thrown 
into  it.  Abrasions  of  the  skin  were  certainly  so  caused. 
When  he,  the  witness,  arrived  at  the  Punch-Bowl,  Kink 
was  already  dead.  He  might  have  been  dead  an  hour, 
the  body  was  not  absolutely  cold.  When  asked 
whether  the  piece  of  ironstone  on  the  table  might 
have  dealt  the  blow  which  had  broken  in  the  skull 
of  Jonas,  he  replied,  that  it  might  have  done  so  cer- 
tainly, and  the  fracture  of  the  skull  was  quite  com- 
patible with  the  charge  advanced  that  it  had  been  so 
caused. 

The  next  witness  summoned  was  Betty  Chivers,  who 
gave  her  evidence  with  great  reluctance,  and  with  many 
tears.  It  was  true  that  the  stone  produced  in  court 
had  been  taken  by  her  from  the  hand  of  the  accused, 
and  that  immediately  on  her  return  from  the  farm  of 
Mr.  Colpus:  Mehetabel  had  not  told  her  that  she  had 
met  her  husband,  had  not  said  that  he  was  dead,  but 
had  admitted  that  she  had  armed  herself  with  the  stone 


304  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

for  the  purpose  of  self-defence  against  Jonas,  her  hus- 
band, who,  she  believed,  desired  to  take  the  child  from 
her. 

Mehetabel  was  asked  if  she  had  anything  to  say,  and 
when  she  declined  to  say  anything,  was  committed  for 
trial  at  the  ensuing  assizes  at  Kingston. 

Throughout  the  hearing  she  had  been  uneasy.  The 
cell  where  she  had  been  confined  was  close  to  the 
court,  and  she  had  been  obliged  to  leave  her  child  with 
a  woman  who  had  attended  to  her ;  and  with  this  per- 
son the  infant  would  not  be  at  rest.  Faintly,  and 
whenever  there  was  a  lull  in  the  court,  she  could  hear 
the  wail  of  her  child,  the  little  voice  rising  and  falling, 
and  she  was  impatient  to  be  back  with  it,  to  still  its 
cries  and  console  the  little  heart,  that  was  frightened 
at  the  presence  of  strangers  and  separation  from  its 
mother. 

Through  all  the  time  that  she  was  in  court,  Mehetabel 
was  listening  for  the  voice  of  the  little  one,  and  paying 
far  more  attention  to  that,  than  to  the  evidence  pro- 
duced against  her. 

It  was  not  till  Mehetabel  was  removed  to  Kingston 
on  Thames  and  put  in  the  prison  to  await  her  trial, 
that  the  full  danger  that  menaced  was  realized  by  her, 
and  then  it  was  mainly  as  it  affected  her  child,  that  it 
alarmed  her.  Life  had  not  been  so  precious,  that  she 
valued  it,  save  for  the  sake  of  this  feeble  child  so  de- 
pendent on  her  for  everything. 

Her  confidence  in  justice  was  no  longer  great.  Ever 
since  her  marriage — indeed,  ever  since  Mrs.  Verstage 
had  turned  against  her,  she  had  been  buffeted  by 
Fortune,  devoid  of  friends.  Why  should  a  Court  of 
Justice  treat  her  otherwise  than  had  the  little  world 
with  which  she  had  been  brought  in  contact. 

In  Kingston  prison  the  wife  of  the  jailer  was  kind, 
and:  took  a  fancy  to  the  unhappy  young  mother.  She 
sat  with  a:nd  talked  to  her. 

"If  they  hang  me,"  said  Mehetabel,  "what  will  be- 
come of  my  baby  ?" 

"  It  will  go  to  a  relatiori," 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  305 

"  It  has  no  relations  but  Sally  Rocliffe,  and  she  has 
ill-wished  it.  She  will  be  unkind  to  it,  she  wants  it  to 
die  ;  and  if  it  lives,  she  will  speak  to  my  child  unkindly 
of  me." 

She  wiped  her  eyes.  "  1  cannot  bear  to  think  of  that. 
I  might  make  up  my  mind  to  die,  if  I  knew  my  baby 
would  be  kindly  cared  for  and  loved — though  none 
could  love  it  and  care  for  it  as  I  do.  But  I  could  not 
die  thinking  it  was  taught  that  I  was  a  bad  woman, 
and  heard  untrue  things  said  of  me  every  day.  I  know 
Sally,  she  would  do  that.  I  had  rather  my  child  went 
on  the  parish,  as  I  did,  than  that  Sally  Rocliffe  should 
have  it.  I  was  a  charity  girl,  and  I  was  well  cared 
for  by  Susanna  Verstage,  but  that  was  a  chance,  or 
rather  a  Providence,  and  I  know  very  well  there  are 
not  many  Susanna  Verstages  in  the  world.  There  is 
not  another  in  Thursley,  no,  nor  in  Witley  either." 

**  Your  child  could  not  go  on  the  parish.  Your 
husband,  as  I  have  been  told,  had  a  freehold  of  his  own 
and  some  money." 

"  He  lost  all  his  money." 

"  But  the  farm  was  his,  and  that  must  be  worth  a 
few  hundred  pounds,  so  that  it  would  not  be  possible 
for  the  child  to  go  on  the  parish." 

"  Then  it  must  go  to  Sally  Rocliffe.  There  is  no 
other  relation." 

This  was  now  the  great  trouble  of  Mehetabel.  She 
had  accepted  the  inevitable,  that  wrong  judgment 
would  be  pronounced,  and  that  she  would  be  hung. 
Then  the  thought  that  her  little  darling  would  be 
placed  under  the  charge  of  the  woman  who  had  em- 
bittered her  married  life,  the  woman  who  believed  her 
to  be  guilty  of  murder, — this  was  more  than  she  could 
endure. 

She  had  passed  completely  from  confidence  that 
her  innocence  would  be  acknowledged  and  that  she 
would  at  once  be  released,  a  condition  in  which  she 
had  rested  previous  to  her  appearance  before  the 
magistrates  at  Godalming,  into  the  reverse  state,  she 
accepted,  now  that  she  was  in  prison,  awaiting  her  trial, 
20 


3o6  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

as  a  certainty  that  she  would  be  condemned  and 
sentenced  to  the  gallows. 

This  frame  of  mind  in  which  she  was  affected  the 
jailer's  wife,  and  made  her  suppose  that  Mehetabel 
was  guilty  of  the  crime  wherewith  she  was  charged. 

All  Mehetabel's  thoughts  and  schemings  were 
directed  towards  the  disposal  of  her  child  and  its  wel- 
fare after  she  was  taken  from  it.  All  the  struggle 
within  her  torn  heart  was  to  reconcile  herself  to  the 
parting,  and  to  have  faith  in  Providence  that  her  child 
would  be  cared  for  when  she  was  removed. 

How  that  could  be  she  saw  not ;  and  she  came  at 
length  to  hope  that  when  she  was  taken  away  the  poor 
little  orphan  babe  would  follow  her.  In  that  thought 
she  found  more  comfort  than  in  the  anticipation  of  its 
living,  ill-treated  by  its  aunt,  and  brought  up  to  be 
ashamed  of  its  mother. 

"  You  say,"  said  Mehetabel  to  the  jaileress,  "  that 
they  don't  hang  women  in  chains  now.  I  am  glad  of 
that.  But  where  will  I  be  buried?  Do  you  think  it 
could  be  contrived  that  if  my  baby  were  to  die  at  some 
time  after  me  it  might  be  laid  at  my  side?  That  is  the 
only  thing  I  now  desire — and  that — oh !  I  think  I 
could  be  happy  if  I  were  promised  that." 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  307 


CHAPTER  XL VII. 
BEFORE   THE   JUDGE. 

Previous  to  the  Assizes,  Joe  Filmer  arrived  in 
Kingston  in  a  trap  drawn  by  old  Clutch.  He  was 
admitted  into  the  prison  on  his  expressing  his  desire 
to  see  Mehetabel. 

After  the  first  salutations  were  passed,  Joe  proceeded 
to  business.  "You  see,  Matabel,"  said  he,  "the 
master  don't  want  you  to  think  he  won't  help  you  out 
o'  this  little  mess  you've  got  into.  But  he  don't  want 
Polly  to  know  it.  The  master,  he's  won'erful  under 
that  young  woman's — I  can't  say  thumb,  but  say  her 
big  toe.  So  if  he  does  wot  he  does  about  you,  it's 
through  me,  and  he'll  sit  innercent  like  by  the  fire 
twiddlin'  of  his  thumbs,  and  talkin'  of  the  weather. 
Master  would  be  crafty  as  an  old  fox  if  he  weren't 
stupid  as  an  owl.  I  can't  think  how  he  can  have 
allowed  himself  to  get  so  much  into  Polly's  power.  It 
is  so ;  and  when  he  wants  to  do  a  thing  without  her 
knowin',  he  has  to  do  it  underhand  ways.  Well,  he 
thort  if  he  let  our  'oss  and  trap  go,  as  Polly  'd  be  sus- 
pectin'  something,  and  Polly's  terrible  set  against  you. 
So  he  told  me  to  take  a  holiday  and  visit  a  dyin'  aunt, 
and  borrow  old  Clutch  and  a  trap  from  the  Angel  at 
Gorlmyn.  Clutch  have  been  there  all  along,  ever  since 
your  affair.  There's  no  keepin'  him  away.  So  I  came 
here ;  and  won'erful  slow  Clutch  was.  When  I  came 
to  Kingston  I  put  up  at  the  Sun,  and  sez  I  to  the 
ostler :  *  Be  there  a  good  lawyer  hereabouts,  think 
you  ?  '  *  Well,'  sez  he,  '  I'm  a  stranger  to  Kingston.  I 
were  born  and  bred  at  Cheam,  but  I  was  ostler  first  in 
Chertsey,  and  then  for  six  months  at  Twickenham. 
But  there's  a  young  woman  I'm  courtin',  I  think  she 


3o8  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

does  the  washin'  for  a  soort  of  a  lawyer  chap,  and  I'll 
ax  she  at  my  dinner  time.*  So  he  did,  and  he  came 
back  and  told  me  as  the  gal  sed  her  master  was  a  law- 
yer. She  didn't  think  much  of  the  missus,  she  was 
mean  about  perquisates,  but  the  master  was  decent 
enough,  and  never  came  pokin'  into  the  kitchen  except 
when  he  wanted  to  have  his  socks  dried.  So  I  reckon 
he'll  do  the  job  for  you.  Well,  I  gave  that  there 
ostler  threepence,  and  axed  him  to  do  me  the  favor  of 
tellin'  that  there  lawyer  that  I'd  be  glad  to  stand  him  a 
glass  o'  ale  if  he'd  step  over  to  the  bar  of  the  Angel. 
I'd  got  a  bit  of  business  I  wanted  to  consult  him  about. 
Well,  he  came,  affable  enough,  and  I  told  him  all — as 
how  I  wanted  him  to  defend  you,  and  get  you  out  of 
this  tidy  hobble  you  was  in,  and  wot  it  *ud  cost. 
Then  he  thought  a  bit,  and  said  that  he  could  get  up 
the  case,  but  must  engage  counsel.  He  was  only  a 
turnkey,  or  some  name  like  that ;  I  sed,  sed  I,  he  was 
to  manage  all,  and  he  might  take  it  or  lump  it  on  these 
terms :  Five  and  twenty  pounds  if  he  got  you  off  clear, 
and  if  he  didn't,  and  you  was  hanged,  then  nuthin'." 

Joe  smiled  and  rubbed  his  hands  in  self-satisfaction. 
Then  he  continued :  "  You  know  the  master  stands 
behind  me.  He'll  find  the  money,  so  long  as  Polly 
don't  know  ;  but  he  thort,  and  so  does  I,  as  it  could  be 
done  cheapest  if  I  took  it  on  me.  So  I  sed  to  the 
lawyer  chap,  who  was  makin'  faces  as  if  he'd  got  a 
herrin'  bone  in  his  teeth,  sez  I,  *  I'm  nort  but  an  ostler 
in  a  little  country  inn,  and  it's  not  to  be  supposed  I've 
much  savin's.  Nor  is  Matabel  any  relation,  only  she 
wos  maid  in  the  inn  whilst  I  wos  ostlin',  so  I  feels  a 
sort  o'  a  likin'  for  the  girl,  and  I  don't  mind  standin' 
five  and  twenty  pound  to  get  her  off.  More  I  can't 
give.'  That,  Matabel,  was  gammon.  The  master 
wouldn't  stick  at  five  and  twenty,  but  he  told  me  to 
try  on  this  little  game.  He's  deep  is  the  master,  for 
all  the  innercence  he  puts  on.  I  said  to  the  ostler  I'd 
give  him  half-a-crown  for  the  gal  as  washes,  as  she  in- 
troduced me  to  the  lawyer.  That  there  turnkey,  as  he 
calls  himself,  he  sez  he  must  get  the  counsel,  and  I  sez, 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  309 

that,  of  course,  and  it  comes  out  of  the  five  and  twenty. 
Then  he  made  more  faces,  but  I  stuck  to  it,  and  I  be- 
lieve he'll  do  it.  He  axed  me  about  partic'lars,  and  I 
sed  he  wos  to  consult  you.  The  master  sed  that  durin' 
the  trial  I  wos  to  be  nigh  the  lawyer,  and  if  he  seemed 
to  flag  at  all  I  wos  to  say,  *  Another  five  pound,  old 
ginger,  if  you  gets  her  off.'  So  I  think  we  shall  manage 
it,  and  Polly  be  never  the  wiser." 

The  Assizes  began.  Mehetabel,  in  her  prison,  could 
hear  the  church  bells  ring  merry  peals  to  welcome  the 
judge.  She  was  in  sore  anxiety  about  the  child,  that 
had  failed  greatly  of  late.  The  trouble  in  which  its 
mother  had  been  involved  had  told  on  its  never  strong 
constitution.  Even  had  she  been  occupied  with  her 
own  defence  and  ultimate  fate,  the  condition  of  the 
babe  imperiously  demanded  that  the  main  solicitude 
of  its  mother  should  be  devoted  to  it,  to  still  its  cries, 
to  relieve  its  pains,  to  lull  it  to  necessary  sleep. 

When  Mehetabel  knew  that  she  was  in  a  few  minutes 
to  be  summoned  to  answer  in  court  for  her  life,  she 
hung  over  the  little  sufferer,  clasped  it  and  its  crib  in 
her  arms,  and  laid  her  cheek  beside  its  fevered  face 
on  the  pillow.  She  could  rest  in  no  other  position. 
If  she  left  the  child,  it  was  to  pace  the  cell — if  she 
turned  her  thoughts  to  her  defence,  she  was  called 
back  by  a  peevish  cry  to  consider  the  infant. 

When  finally  summoned  to  the  court  she  committed 
the  babe  to  the  friendly  and  worthy  jaileress,  who 
undertook  to  care  for  it  to  the  best  of  her  abilities. 
The  appearance  of  Mehetabel  in  the  court  produced 
at  once  a  favorable  impression.  Her  beauty,  her 
youth,  the  sweetness  and  pathos  of  expression  in  her 
intelligent  face,  and  the  modesty  with  which  she  bore 
the  stare  of  the  crowd,  sent  a  wave  of  sympathy  through 
all  present,  and  stirred  pity  in  every  heart.  When 
Mehetabel  had  recovered  the  confusion  and  alarm  into 
which  she  was  thrown  by  finding  herself  in  the  dock 
with  heads  all  about  her,  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  and 
mouths  whispering  comments,  she  timidly  looked  up 
and  around. 


3 to  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

She  saw  the  judge  in  his  robes  under  the  Royal  arms, 
the  barristers,  in  gowns  and  wigs,  she  looked  in  the 
direction  of  the  jury,  and  with  a  start  recognized  one 
amongst  them.  By  a  strange  chance  Iver  Verstage 
had  been  chosen  as  one  of  the  petty  jury,  and  the  pros- 
ecution not  suspecting  that  he  was  in  any  way  mixed 
up  in  the  matter  before  the  court,  not  knowing  that  he 
was  acquainted  with  the  prisoner,  that  he  came  from 
the  neighborhood  of  the  scene  of  the  murder,  suffered 
him  to  pass  unchallenged.  Iver  did  not  turn  his  face 
her  way,  and  avoided  meeting  her  eye. 

Then  she  saw  Joe  Filmer's  honest  countenance  ;  he 
sought  what  Iver  avoided,  and  greeted  her  with  a  smile 
and  a  nod. 

There  was  one  more  present  whom  Mehetabel  rec- 
ognized, and  that  in  spite  of  his  wig.  She  saw  in  the 
barrister  who  was  to  act  as  counsel  in  the  prosecution 
that  same  young  man  who  had  insulted  her  on  the 
dam  of  the  Hammer  Pond. 

There  was  little  fresh  evidence  produced  beyond 
that  elicited  before  the  magistrates.  Almost  the  only 
new  matter  was  what  was  drawn  from  the  two  Rocliflfes 
relative  to  the  conversation  that  had  passed  between 
the  prisoner  and  the  deceased  previous  to  his  death. 
But  neither  father  nor  son  could  give  a  clear  account, 
and  they  contradicted  each  other  and  themselves. 
But  both  were  confident  as  to  Mehetabel  having  struck 
Jonas  on  the  head. 

The  counsel  for  the  defence  was  able  to  make  a 
point  here.  According  to  their  account  they  were  in 
a  lane,  the  level  of  which  was  considerably  lower  than 
that  of  the  field  in  which  the  altercation  took  place. 
There  was  a  hedge  of  holly  intervening.  Now  holly 
does  not  lose  its  leaves  in  winter.  Holly  does  not 
grow  in  straggling  fashion,  but  densely.  How  were 
these  two  men  able  to  see  through  so  close  a  screen  ? 
Moreover,  if  they  could  see  the  prisoner  then  it  was 
obvious  she  could  see  them,  and  was  it  likely  that  she 
would  strike  her  husband  before  their  eyes.  Neither 
Samuel  nor  Thomas  Rocliffe  was  able  to  explain  how  he 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  311 

saw  through  a  hedge  of  holly,  but  he  had  no  hesitation 
in  saying  that  see  he  did.  They  were  both  looking 
and  had  chosen  a  spot  where  a  view  was  possible,  and 
that  Mehetabel  did  not  know  they  were  present  was 
almost  certain,  as  she  was  looking  at  Jonas  all  the  while 
and  not  in  their  direction.  The  counsel  was  disap- 
pointed, he  had  hoped  to  make  much  of  this  point. 

Mehetabel  was  uneasy  when  she  noticed  now  that 
the  bewigged  young  man  who  had  spoken  with  her  at 
the  Hammer  Pond  labored  to  bring  out  from  the  wit- 
nesses* admissions  that  would  tell  against  her.  He 
was  not  content  with  the  particulars  of  the  death  of 
Jonas,  he  went  back  to  the  marriage  of  Mehetabel,  and 
to  her  early  history.  He  forced  from  the  Rocliffes, 
father  and  son,  and  also  from  Colpus  and  his  daughter 
the  statement  that  when  Mehetabel  had  been  told  her 
husband  was  dead  she  had  laughed. 

Up  to  this  the  feeling  of  all  in  court  had  been  un^ 
mistakably  in  her  favor,  but  now,  as  in  the  petty  ses^ 
sions,  the  knowledge  that  she  had  laughed  turned  the 
current  of  sympathy  from  her. 

When  all  the  evidence  had  been  produced,  then  the 
counsel  for  the  prosecution  stood  up  and  addressed 
the  court.  The  case,  said  he,  was  a  peculiarly  painful 
one,  for  it  exhibited  the  blackest  ingratitude  in  one 
who  owed,  he  might  say,  everything  to  the  deceased. 
As  the  court  had  heard — the  accused  had  been  brought 
up  in  a  small  wayside  tavern,  the  resort  of  sailors  on 
their  way  between  London  and  Portsmouth,  where  she 
had  served  in  the  capacity  of  barmaid,  giving  drink  to 
the  low  fellows  who  frequented  the  public-house,  and 
he  need  hardly  say  that  such  a  bringing  up  must  kill 
all  the  modesty,  morality,  sense  of  self-respect  and 
common  decency  out  of  a  young  girl's  mind.  She 
was  good-looking,  and  had  been  the  object  of  familiari- 
ties from  the  drunken  vagabonds  who  passed  and  re- 
passed along  the  road,  and  stayed  to  slake  their  thirst, 
and  bandy  jokes  with  the  pretty  barmaid.  From  this 
situation  she  had  been  rescued  by  Jonas  Kink,  a  sub- 
stantial farmer.     Having  been  a  foundling  she  had  no 


312  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

name.  She  had  been  brought  up  at  the  parish  ex- 
pense, and  had  no  relatives  either  to  curb  her  propen- 
sities for  evil,  or  to  withdraw  her  from  a  situation  in 
which  no  young  woman,  he  ventured  to  say,  could 
spend  her  early  years  without  moral  degradation.  It 
might  almost  be  asserted  that  Jonas  Kink,  the  deceased, 
had  lifted  this  unfortunate  creature  from  the  gutter. 
He  had  given  her  his  name,  he  had  given  her  a  home. 
He  had  treated  her  with  uniform  kindness — no  evidence 
had  been  produced  that  he  had  ever  maltreated  her. 
On  the  contrary,  as  the  widow  Chivers  had  admitted — 
the  prisoner  said  herself  that  the  deceased  had  never 
struck  her  with  a  stick.  That  there  had  been  quarrels 
he  freely  admitted,  that  the  deceased  had  spoken  sharp- 
ly was  not  to  be  denied.  But  he  asked :  What  hus- 
band would  endure  that  the  young  wife  who  was  in- 
debted to  him  for  everything,  should  resume  her  light 
and  reprehensible  conduct,  or  should  show  inclination 
to  do  so,  after  he  had  made  her  his  own?  No  doubt 
whatever  that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  felt  the  monot- 
ony of  a  farmhouse  irksome  after  the  lively  existence 
in  a  public  house.  No  doubt  she  missed  the  society 
of  topers,  and  their  tipsy  familiarities.  But  was  that 
reason  why  she  should  kill  her  husband  ? 

He  believed  that  he  had  been  able  to  show  that  this 
murder  had  been  planned  ;  that  the  prisoner  had  pro- 
vided herself  with  the  implement  wherewith  it  was  her 
purpose  to  rid  herself  of  the  husband  who  was  distaste- 
ful to  her.  With  deliberate  intention  to  free  herself, 
she  had  waited  to  catch  him  alone,  and  where  she  be- 
lieved she  was  unobserved.  The  jury  must  consider 
how  utterly  degraded  a  woman  must  be  to  compass 
the  death  of  the  man  to  whom  she  had  sworn  eternal 
fidelity  and  love.  A  woman  who  could  do  this  was 
not  one  who  should  be  suffered  to  live  ;  she  was  a 
scandal  to  her  sex ;  she  dishonored  humanity. 

The  counsel  proceeded  to  say :  "  Gentlemen  of  the 
jury,  I  have  anxiously  looked  about  for  some  excuses, 
something  that  might  extenuate  the  atrocity  of  this 
crime.     I  have  found  none.     The  man  who  steals  bread 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  313 

to  support  his  starving  children  must  suffer  under  the 
law  for  what  he  has  donp.  Can  you  allow  to  go  free 
a  woman,  because  young,  who  has  wilfully,  wantonly, 
and  deliberately  compassed  the  murder  of  her  husband, 
merely,  as  far  as  we  can  judge,  because  he  stood  in  her 
way  pointing  the  direction  to  morality  and  happiness. 
Whatever  may  be  said  in  defence  of  this  unfortunate 
prisoner  now  on  her  trial,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  do  not 
mistake  your  ofifice.  You  are  not  here  to  excuse  crime 
and  to  forgive  criminals,  but  to  judge  them  with  jus- 
tice. Do  not  be  swayed  by  any  false  feeling  of  com- 
miseration because  of  the  sex  and  youth  of  the  accused. 
Remember  that  a  wife  guilty  of  the  murder  of  her 
husband,  who  is  allowed  to  run  free,  encourages  all 
others,  possibly  even  your  own,  to  rid  themselves  of 
their  husbands,  whenever  they  resent  a  look  or  a  word 
of  reproach.  I  will  lose  no  more  words,  but  demand  a 
sentence  of  guilty  against  Mehetabel  Kink. 

The  young  mother  had  hardly  been  able  to  endure 
the  sense  of  shame  that  overwhelmed  her  during  the 
progress  of  the  speech  of  the  counsel.  Flushes  of 
crimson  swept  through  her  face,  at  his  insinuations  and 
statements  affecting  her  character,  and  then  the  color 
faded  leaving  her  deadly  white.  This  was  an  agony  of 
death  worse  than  the  gallows.  She  could  have  cried 
out,  "Take  my  life — but  spare  me    this  dishonor." 

Joe  Filmer  looked  troubled  and  alarmed  ;  he  worked 
his  way  to  the  back  of  the  bench,  where  sat  the  coun- 
sel for  the  defence,  and  said  :  "  Old  Crock,  five  guineas 
— ten,  if  you'll  get  her  off.  Five  from  the  master,  and 
five  from  me.  And  I'll  kick  that  rascal  who  has  just 
spoken,  as  he  comes  out ;  I  will,  be  Jiggers !  " 


314  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 
THE  VERDICT. 

When  the  counsel  for  the  defense  stood  up,  Mehet- 
abel  raised  her  shame-stricken  face.  This  man,  she 
knew,  would  speak  a  good  word  for  her — had  he  not 
done  so  already  ?  Had  not  all  his  efforts  been  directed 
towards  getting  out  of  the  witnesses  something  favor- 
able to  her,  and  to  showing  contradictions  in  their 
statements  which  told  against  her  ? 

But  she  looked  timidly  towards  him,  and  dared  not 
meet  the  glances  of  the  crowd  in  the  court.  What 
must  they  think  of  her — that  she  was  an  abandoned 
woman  without  self-restraint ;  a  disgrace  to  her  sex,  as 
that  young  barrister  had  said. 

Again,  it  must  be  said,  she  was  accustomed  to  in- 
justice. She  had  been  unfairly  treated  by  Susanna 
Verstage.  She  had  met  with  cruel  wrong  from  her  hus- 
band.  By  the  whole  of  the  Punch-Bowl  she  had  been 
received  without  generosity,  without  that  openness  of 
mind  which  should  have  been  manifested  towards  a 
stranger  claiming  its  hospitality.  She  had  not  received 
the  kindness  that  was  her  due  from  her  sister-in-law. 
Even  the  well-disposed  Joe  Filmer  believed  her  to  be 
guilty  of  murder.  But  perhaps  she  could  have  borne 
all  this  better  than  the  wounding  insults  offered  her  by 
the  counsel  for  the  prosecution,  blasting  her  character 
before  the  world. 

The  barrister  engaged  to  defend  her  did  his  utmost, 
and  did  it  with  ability.  He  charged  the  jury  not  to 
be  deceived  into  believing  that  this  was  a  case  of  pre- 
meditated murder,  even  if  they  were  satisfied  that 
Jonas  had  been  killed  by  the  stone  carried  by  the  de- 
fendant. 

As  he  had  brought  out  by  the  evidence  of  the  widOw 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  315 

Betty  Chivers,  and  by  that  of  the  surgeon,  the  prisoner 
had  been  off  her  head,  and  was  not  responsible  for 
what  she  said  or  did.  What  more  Hkely  then  that  she 
raved  in  deHrium  when  she  asserted  that  she  would 
kill  her  husband,  and  what  more  evident  token  of  hav- 
ing her  brain  overbalanced  than  that  she  should  be 
running  about  the  country  hiding  in  caves,  carrying  her 
child  with  her,  under  the  impression  that  her  husband 
desired  to  take  it  from  her,  and  perhaps  do  it  an  injury. 
That  was  not  the  conduct  of  a  sane  woman.  Why 
should  a  father  seek  to  rob  her  of  her  child  ?  Could 
he  suckle  it  ?  Did  he  want  to  be  encumbered  with  an 
unweaned  infant?  Then  as  to  the  alleged  murder. 
Was  the  testimony  of  the  two  men,  Thomas  and 
Samuel  Rocliffe,  worth  a  rush  ?  Was  not  this  Thomas 
a  fool,  who  had  been  enveigled  into  a  marriage  with  a 
tramp  who  called  herself  a  countess?  Did  he  not 
show  when  under  cross-examination  that  he  was  a  man 
of  limited  intelligence  ?  And  was  his  son  Samuel 
much  better?  There  was  a  dense  holly  hedge  be- 
twixt them  and  the  prisoner.  He  put  it  to  any  candid 
person,  who  can  see  so  clearly  through  a  holly  bush  as 
to  be  able  to  distinguish  the  action  of  parties  on  the 
further  side?  These  two  witnesses  had  fallen  into  con- 
tradiction as  to  what  they  had  heard  said,  through  the 
holly  hedge,  and  it  was  much  easier  to  hear  than  to 
see  athwart  such  an  obstruction. 

There  was  enough  to  account  for  the  death  of  Jonas 
Kink  without  having  recourse  to  the  theory  of  murder. 
He  had  received  a  blow  on  his  head,  but  he  had  re- 
ceived more  blows  than  one  ;  when  a  man  falls  back- 
wards and  falls  down  into  a  kiln  that  yawns  behind 
him  he  would  strike  his  head  against  the  side  more 
than  once,  and  with  sufficient  force  to  break  in  his  skull 
and  kill  him.  How  could  they  be  sure  that  he  was 
not  killed  by  a  blow  against  the  bricks  of  the  kiln 
edge  ?  The  accused  had  charged  the  deceased  with 
having  tried  to  murder  her  baby.  That  was  what  both 
the  witnesses  had  agreed  in,  though  one  would  have  it 
she  had  asserted  he  tried  to  poison  it,  and  the  other 


3i6  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

that  he  had  endeavored  to  strangle  it.  Such  a  charge 
was  enough  to  surprise  a  father,  and  no  wonder  that  he 
started  back,  and  in  starting  back  fell  into  the  kiln,  the 
existence  of  which  he  had  forgotten  if  he  ever  knew  of 
it.  He  the  counsel,  entreated  the  jury  not  to  be  led 
away  by  appearances,  but  to  weigh  the  evidence  and 
to  pronounce  as  their  verdict  not  guilty. 

No  sooner  had  he  seated  himself  than  he  was  nudged 
in  the  back,  and  Joe  Filmer  said,  in  a  loud  whisper, 
"  Famous !  Shake  hands,  and  have  a  drop  o'  Hollands." 
Then  the  ostler  thrust  forward  a  bottle  that  had  been 
in  his  pocket.  It's  first-rate  stuff,"  he  said.  '*  The 
master  gave  it  me." 

The  Judge  summed  up  and  charged  the  jury.  As 
Joe  Filmer  described  his  address  afterwards,  *'  He  said 
that  there  were  six  things  again'  her,  and  about  a  half-a- 
dozen  for  her  ;  there  was  evidence  as  went  one  road 
and  evidence  as  went  t'other  way.  That  she  was  either 
guilty  or  not  guilty,  and  the  gem'men  of  the  jury  was 
to  please  themselves  and  say  wot  they  liked." 

Thereupon  the  jury  withdrew. 

Now  when  the  twelve  men  were  in  the  room  to  which 
they  had  retired,  then  the  foreman  said  : — *'  Well,  gents, 
what  do  you  think  now?  You  give  us  your  opinion, 
Mr.  Quittenden." 

"  Then,  sir,"  answered  the  gentleman  addressed,  an 
upholsterer.  ''  I  should  say  'ang  'er.  It  won't  do,  in 
my  opinion,  to  let  wives  think  they  can  play  old  Harry 
with  their  'usbands.  What  the  gentleman  said  as  acted 
in  the  prosecution  was  true  as  gospel.  It  won't  do  for 
us  to  be  soft  heads  and  let  our  wives  think  they  can 
massacre  us  with  impunity.  Women  ain't  reasonin* 
creatures,  they're  hanimals  of  impulse,  and  if  one  of  us 
comes  'ome  with  a  drop  too  much,  or  grumbles  at  the 
children  bein'  spoiled,  then,  I  say,  if  our  wives  think  they 
can  do  it  and  get  let  off  they'll  up  wi'  the  flat  iron  and 
brain  us.     I  say  guilty.     *Ang 'er." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  foreman,  "  that's  your  judgment. 
Now  let  us  hear  what  Josias  Kingerle  has  to  say." 

*'  Sir,"  said  the  gentleman  addressed,  who  was  in  the 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  317 

tannery  business,  "  if  she  weren't  so  good-lookin*  I'd 
say  let  her  off. " 

As  an  expression  of  'surprise  found  utterance  Mr. 
Kingerle  proceeded  to  explain. 

"  You  see,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  and  you,  Mr.  Fore- 
man, I  have  a  wife,  and  that  good  lady  was  in  court, 
an'  kept  her  eye  on  me  all  the  time  like  a  rattlesnake. 
I  couldn't  steal  a  peep  at  the  prisoner  but  she  was 
shakin'  of  her  parasol  handle  at  me,  and  though  she 
didn't  say  it  with  words  yet  I  read  it  in  her  eye,  '  Now- 
then,  Josiah,  none  o'  your  games  and  gushes  of  pity 
over  pretty  gals.'  It's  as  much  as  my  domestic  felicity 
is  worth,  gentlemen,  to  say  not  guilty.  My  wife  would 
say,  and  your  wives  would  all  say,  *  O  yes  !  very  fine. 
Because  she  was  'andsome  you  have  acquitted  her. 
Had  we — '  I'm  speakin'  as  if  it  was  our  wives  addressin' 
of  us,  gentlemen — '  Had  we  been  in  the  dock,  or  had 
there  been  an  ugly  woman,  you  would  have  said  guilty 
at  once.'     So  for  peace  and  quietness  I  say  guilty.     'Ang 

"Well,  Mr.  Kingerle,"  said  the  foreman,  "that  is 
your  opinion  ;  you  agree  with  Mr.  Quittenden.  Now 
then,  what  say  you,  Mr.  Wrist  ?  " 

The  juryman  addressed  was  a  stout  and  heavy  man. 
He  stretched  his  short  legs,  seated  himself  in  his  chair, 
and  after  a  long  pause  said,  "  I  don't  know  as  I  care 
particular,  as  far  as  I'm  concerned.  But  it's  better  in 
my  opinion  to  hang  her,  even  if  innocent,  than  let  her 
off.  It's  setting  an  example,  a  fine  one,  to  the  wimen. 
I  agree  with  Mr.  Quittenden,  and  say — guilty.     *Ang 

"  Now  then,  Mr.  Sanson." 

"  I,"  answered  a  timid  little  apothecary,  "  I  wouldn't 
wish  to  differ  from  any  one.  I  had  rather  you  passed 
me  over  now,  and  just  asked  the  rest.  Then  I'll  fall 
in  with  the  general  division." 

"  Very  well,  then — and  you,  Mr.  Sniggins." 

"  I  am  rayther  hard  of  hearing,"  answered  that  gentle- 
man, "  and  I  didn't  catch  all  that  was  said  in  evidence, 
and  then  I  had  a  bad  night.     I'd  taken  some  lobster 


3i8  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

last  evening,  and  it  didn't  agree  with  me,  and  I  couldn't 
sleep,  and  it  was  rayther  hot  in  the  court,  and  I  just 
closed  my  eyes  now  and  again,  and  what  with  being 
hard  of  hearing  and  closing  my  eyes,  I'm  not  very  well 
up  in  the  case,  but  I  say — guilty.     'Ang  'er." 

"  And  you,  Mr. I  beg  your  pardon,  I  did  not 

catch  your  name." 

♦'  Verstage." 

"  Not  a  Kingston  gent  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  from  Guildford." 

*'  What  say  you,  sir?  " 

"  I — emphatically,  not  guilty."  Iver  threw  himself 
back  in  his  chair,  extended  his  legs,  and  thrust  his 
hands  into  his  trouser  pockets.  "  The  whole  thing  is 
rank  nonsense.  How  could  a  woman  with  a  baby  in 
her  arms  knock  a  man  down  ?  You  try,  gents,  any  one 
of  you — take  your  last  born,  and  whilst  nursing  it, 
attempt  to  pull  your  wife's  nose.  You  can't  do  it. 
The  thing  is  obvious."  He  looked  round  with  assurance. 
"  The  man  was  a  curmudgeon.  He  misused  her.  He 
was  in  bad  circumstances  through  the  failure  of  the 
Wealden  Bank.  He  wanted  money,  and  the  child  had 
just  had  a  fortune  left  it — something  a  little  under  two 
hundred  pounds." 

''  How  do  you  know  that  ?  "  asked  the  foreman. 
"That  didn't  come  out  in  evidence." 

''  P'raps  you  shut  your  ears,  as  Mr.  Sniggins  shut  his 
peepers.  P'raps  it  came  out,  p'raps  it  didn't.  But  it's 
true  all  the  same.  And  the  fellow  wanted  the  money. 
Matabel — I  mean  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  thought — 
rightly  or  wrongly  matters  not — that  he  wished  for  the 
death  of  his  child,  and  she  ran  away.  She  was  not 
crazy ;  she  was  resolved  to  protect  her  child.  She 
swore  that  she  would  defend  it.  That  Giles  Cheel  and 
Mrs.  Rocliffe  said.  What  mother  would  not  do  the 
same  ?  As  for  those  two  men,  Thomas  and  Samuel 
Rocliffe,  they  never  saw  her  knock  down  Jonas  Kink, 
for  the  good  reason  that  she  was  holding  the  baby,  and 
couldn't  do  it.  But  when  she  told  him,  he  was  seek- 
ing his  child's  life — all  for  the  money  left  it — then  he 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  319 

stumbled  back,  and  fell  into  the  kiln — not  guilty.  If 
I  sit  here  till  I  starve  yo^u  all — not  guilty." 

''  But,  sir,  what  you  state  did  not  come  out  in  the 
evidence." 

"  Did  it  not  ?  So  much  the  worse  for  the  case.  It 
wasn't  properly  got  up.  TU  tell  you  what,  gents,  if 
you  and  me  can't  agree,  then  after  a  time  the  jury  will 
be  dismissed,  and  the  whole  case  will  have  to  be  tried 
again.  Then  the  evidence  will  come  up  that  you  think 
you  haven't  heard  now,  and  she'll  be  acquitted,  and 
every  one  will  say  of  this  jury — that  we  were  a  parcel 
of  noodles." 

^'  Well,  sir,  not  guilty,"  said  the  foreman.  "  What 
do  you  say,  Mr.  Lilliwhite  ?  " 

'*  Sir,"  answered  the  gentleman  addressed,  "  I'd  like 
to  know  what  the  cost  to  the  county  will  be  of  an 
execution.  I  say  it  can't  be  done  under  a  hundred 
pounds,  if  you  calculate  the  carpentering  and  the 
timber,  and  the  fees,  and  the  payment  of  the  constables 
to  keep  order,  and  of  the  hangman.  I  say  it  ain't  worth 
it.  There'll  be  another  farthing  stuck  on  the  rates,  all 
along  of  this  young  woman.  I'm  again'  it.  Not  guilty. 
Let  'er  go." 

''And  I,"  said  the  next  juryman,  '*  am  averse  to 
capital  punishment.  I  wrote  a  little  tract  on  the  sub- 
ject. I  do  not  know  if  any  of  you  gentlemen  have 
seen  it.  I  have  copies  in  my  pocket.  I  shall  be  happy 
to  present  each  of  you  with  a  copy.  I  couldn't  possibly 
say  guilty  and  deliver  her  over  to  a  violent  death,  with- 
out controverting  my  published  opinions,  and,  so  to 
speak,  stultifying  myself.  So,  really,  sir,  I  must  posi- 
tively say  not  guilty,  and  would  say  as  much  on  be- 
half of  the  most  ferocious  murderer,  of  Blue  Beard 
himself,  rather  than  admit  anything  which  might  lead 
to  a  sentence  of  capital  punishment.     Not  guilty." 

Nearly  an  hour  and  a  half  elapsed  before  the  jury 
returned  to  the  court.  It  was  clear  that  there  had 
been  differences  of  opinion,  and  some  difficulty  in  over- 
coming these,  and  bringing  all  the  twelve,  if  not  to  one 
mind,  at  all  events  to  one  voice, 


320  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

A  silence  fell  on  the  whole  court. 

Mehetabel  who  had  been  allowed  a  seat,  rose,  and 
stood  pale  as  death,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  jurymen, 
as  they  filed  in. 

The  foreman  stepped  forward,  and  said :  "  We  find 
the  prisoner  not  guilty." 

Then,  in  the  stillness  with  which  the  verdict  was 
received,  MehetabeFs  voice  was  heard,  tremulous  and 
pleading.  She  had  dropped  a  curtsey,  and  said, 
''  Thank  you,  gentlemen."  Then  turning  to  the  judge, 
and  again  dropping  a  curtsey,  she  raised  her  eyes 
timidly,  modestly,  to  the  judge,  and  said,  "  Please,  sir, 
may  I  go  to  my  baby  ?  " 


PLEASE,   SIR,    MAY   I  GO  TO   MY   BABY  ?  "— /'rt^^r  J^O. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  321 


CHAPTER  XLIX, 
WELCOME. 


Mehetabel  was  not  able  to  leave  Kingston  for 
several  days.  Her  child  was  too  ill  to  bear  the  journey 
to  Thursley  ;  and  the  good-natured  jailer's  wife  kindly 
urged  her  to  remain  as  her  guest  till  she  thought  that 
the  little  being  might  be  removed  with  safety.  Joe 
Filmer  would  drive  her  back,  and  Joe  consented  to 
tarry.  He  had  business  to  discharge,  the  settlement 
of  the  account  with  the  solicitor,  or  turnkey  as  he  called 
him,  to  haggle  over  the  sum,  and  try  to  get  him  to 
abate  a  sovereign  because  paid  in  ready  money.  He 
had  also  to  satisfy  the  girl  who  had  recommended  the 
attorney,  and  the  ostler  who  had  consulted  the  girl, 
and  old  Clutch,  who  having  found  his  quarters  agree- 
able at  the  stable  of  the  Sun,  was  disinclined  to  depart, 
and  pretended  that  he  had  the  strangles,  and  coughed 
himself  into  convulsions.  At  length,  towards  the  end 
of  the  week,  Mehetabel  thought  the  child  was  easier, 
and  Joe  having  satisfied  all  parties  to  whom  he  was  in- 
debted, and  Clutch  having  been  denied  his  food  unless 
he  came  forth  and  allowed  himself  to  be  harnessed, 
Mehetabel  departed  from  Kingston,  on  her  return 
journey. 

The  pace  at  which  old  Clutch  moved  was  slow,  the 
slightest  elevation  in  the  ground  gave  him  an  excuse 
for  a  walk,  and  he  turned  his  head  inquiringly  from 
side  to  side  as  he  went  along,  to  observe  the  scenery. 
If  he  passed  a  hedge,  or  a  field  in  which  was  a  horse, 
he  persisted  in  standing  still  and  neighing.  Where- 
upon the  beast  addressed,  perhaps  at  the  plough,  per- 
haps a  hunter  turned  out  to  graze,  responded,  and  till 
the  conversation  in  reciprocal  neighs  had  concluded  to 
the  satisfaction  of  the  mind  of  Clutch,  that  venerable 
steed  refused  to  proceed. 
21 


322  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

"  I  suppose  you've  heard  about  Betty  Chivers?  "  said 
Joe. 

"  About  Betty !     What  ?  " 

"  She  got  a  bad  chill  at  the  trial,  or  maybe  coming 
to  it ;  and  she  is  not  returned  to  Thursley.  I  heard 
she  was  gone  to  her  sister,  who  married  a  joiner  at 
Chertsey,  for  a  bit  o'  a  change,  and  to  be  nussed. 
Poor  thing,  she  took  on  won'erful  about  your  little 
aJEfair.     So  you'll  not  see  her  at  Thursley." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that,"  said  Mehetabel,  "  and  most 
sorry  that  I  have  caused  her  inconvenience,  and  that 
she  is  ill  through  me." 

"  I  heard  her  say  it  was  damp  sheets,  and  not  you  at 
all.  Old  wimen  are  won'erful  tender,  more  so  than 
gals.     And,  of  course,  you've  heard  about  Iver." 

"  Iver !  What  of  Iver?"  asked  Mehetabel,  with  a 
flush  in  her  cheek. 

"  Well,  Mister  Colpus,  he  had  a  talk  wi'  Iver  about 
matters  at  the  Ship.  He  told  him  that  the  girl  Polly 
were  gettin'  the  upper  hand  in  everythin',  and  that  if 
he  didn't  look  smart  and  interfere  she'd  be  marryin' 
the  old  chap  right  off  on  end,  and  gettin'  him  to  leave 
everythin'  to  her,  farm  and  public  house  and  all  his 
savings.  Though  she's  an  innercent  lookin'  wench,  and 
wi*  a  head  like  a  suet  puddin'  she  knows  how  to  get  to 
the  blind  side  of  the  master,  and  though  she's  terrible 
at  breakages,  she  is  that  smooth-tongued  that  she  can 
get  him  to  believe  that  the  fault  lies  everywhere  else 
but  at  her  door.  So  Iver,  he  said  he'd  go  off  to  Thursley 
at  once,  and  send  Polly  to  the  right-abouts.  And  a 
very  good  thing  too.  I'll  be  glad  to  see  the  back  of  her. 
'Twas  a  queer  thing  now,  Iver  gettin*  on  to  jury, 
weren't  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  Joe,  Iwas  surprised." 

"  I  reckon  the  Rocliffes  didn't  half  like  it,  but  they 
made  no  complaint  to  the  lawyer,  and  so  he  didn't 
think  there  was  aught  amiss.  You  see,  the  Rocliffes 
be  won'erful  ignorant  folk.  If  that  blackguard  lawyer 
chap  as  sed  what  he  sed  about  you  had  known  who 
Iver  was,  he'd  have   turned  him  out.     That  insolent 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  325 

fascal.  I  sed  Td  punish  him.  I  will.  They  told  me 
he  comes  fishin'  to  the  Frensham  Ponds  and  Pudmoor. 
He  stays  at  the  Hut  Inn.  I'll  be  in  waitin'  for  him 
next  time,  and  give  him  a  duckin*  in  them  ponds,  see 
if  I  don't." 

The  journey  home  was  not  to  be  made  in  a  day  when 
old  Clutch  was  concerned,  and  it  had  to  be  broken  at 
Guildford.  Moreover,  at  Godalming  it  was  interrupted 
by  the  obstinacy  of  the  horse,  which — whether  through 
revival  of  latent  sentiment  toward  the  gray  mare,  or 
through  conviction  that  he  had  done  enough,  refused 
to  proceed,  and  lay  down  in  the  shafts  in  the  middle 
of  the  road.  Happily  he  did  this  with  such  delibera- 
tion, and  after  having  announced  his  intention  so  un- 
equivocally, that  Mehetabel  was  able  to  escape  out  of 
the  taxcart  with  her  baby  unhurt. 

**  It  can't  be  helped,"  said  Joe  Filmer,  "  we'll  never 
move  him  out  but  by  levers  ;  what  will  you  do,  Mata- 
bel?     Walk  on  or  wait  ?  " 

Mehetabel  elected  to  proceed  on  foot.  The  distance 
was  five  miles.  She  would  have  to  carry  her  child,  but 
the  babe  was  not  a  heavy  weight.  Gladly  would  she 
have  carried  it  twice  the  distance  if  only  it  were  more 
solid  and  a  greater  burden.  The  hands  were  almost 
transparent,  the  face  as  wax,  and  the  nose  unduly  sharp 
for  an  infant  of  such  a  tender  age. 

"  I  daresay,"  said  Joe  aside,  *'  that  if  I  can  blind  old 
Clutch  and  turn  him  round  so  that  he  don't  know  his 
bearin's,  that  I  may  get  him  up  and  to  run  along, 
thinkin'  he's  on  his  way  back  to  Gorlmyn.  But  he's 
deep — terrible  deep." 

Accordingly  Mehetabel  walked  on,  and  walked  for 
nearly  two  hours  without  being  overtaken.  She 
reached  that  point  of  the  main  road  whence  a  way 
diverges  on  the  right  to  the  village  of  Thursley,  where- 
as the  Ship  Inn  lies  a  little  further  forward  on  the 
highway.  She  purposed  going  to  the  dame's  school- 
house,  to  ascertain  whether  Mrs.  Chivers  had  returned. 
If  she  had  not,  then  Mehetabel  did  not  know  what  she 
should    do,  whither   she   should  go.     Return   to    the 


3J4  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

Punch-Bowl  she  would  not.  Anything  was  preferable 
to  that.  The  house  of  Jonas  Kink  was  associated  with 
thoughts  of  wretchedness,  and  she  could  not  endure  to 
enter  it  again. 

She  reached  the  cottage  and  found  it  locked.  She 
applied  at  the  house  of  the  nearest  neighbor,  to  learn 
whether  Betty  Chivers  was  expected  home  shortly,  and 
also  whether  she  had  left  the  key.  She  was  told  that 
news  had  reached  Thursley  that  the  schoolmistress  was 
still  unwell,  and  the  neighbor  added,  that  on  leaving, 
Betty  had  carried  the  key  of  the  cottage  with  her. 

**  May  I  sit  down  ?  "  asked  Mehetabel ;  her  brow  was 
bathed  in  perspiration,  and  her  knees  were  shaking 
under  her,  whilst  her  arms  ached  and  seemed  to  have 
lost  the  power  to  hold  the  precious  burden  any  longer. 
"  I  have  walked  from  Gorlmyn,"  she  explained  ;  "  and 
can  you  tell  me  where  I  can  be  taken  in  for  a  night  or 
two.  I  have  a  little  money,  and  will  pay  for  my  lodg- 
ings." 

The  woman  drew  her  lips  together  and  signed  to  a 
chair.  Presently  she  said  in  a  restrained  voice  :  "  That 
there  baby  is  feverish,  and  my  man  has  had  a  hard 
day's  work  and  wants  his  rest  at  night,  and  though  'tis 
true  we  have  a  spare  room,  yet  I  don't  see  as  we  can 
accommodate  you.  So  they  let  you  off — up  at  King- 
ston ?  " 

**  Yes,  I  was  let  off,"  answered  Mehetabel,  faintly. 

"  Hardly  reckoned  on  it,  I  s'pose.  Most  folks  sed 
as  you'd  swing  for  it.  You  mustn't  try  on  them  games 
again,  or  you  won't  be  so  lucky  next  time.  The  car- 
penter, Puttenham,  has  a  bed  at  liberty,  but  whether 
he'll  take  you  in  I  don't  know." 

Mehetabel  rose,  and  went  to  the  cottage  of  the 
wheelwright.  The  man  himself  was  in  his  shop.  She 
applied  to  his  wife. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Puttenham.  "  They  say 
you  was  off  your  head  when  you  did  it.  How  can  I 
tell  you're  right  in  your  intellecks  now?  You  see, 
'twould  be  mighty  unpleasant  to  have  anything  happen 
to  either  Puttenham  or  me,  if  we  crossed  you  in  any 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  3^5 

way.  I  don't  feel  inclined  to  risk  it.  I  mind  when 
owd  Sammy  Drewitt  was  daft.  They  did  up  a  sort  of 
a  black  hole,  and  stuck  \\e  in,  and  fed  him  through  a 
kind  of  a  winder  in  the  side,  and  they  had  the  place 
cleaned  out  once  a  month,  and  fresh  straw  littered  for 
him  to  lie  on.  Folk  sed  he  ort  to  ha'  been  chained  to 
the  wall,  but  they  didn't  do  that.  He  never  managed 
to  break  through  the  door.  They  found  him  dead 
there  one  winter  mornin' when  the  Hammer  Ponds  was 
froze  almost  a  solid  block.  I  reckon  there's  been  no- 
body in  that  place  since.  The  constable  might  send  a 
man,  and  scrape  it  out,  and  accommodate  you  there. 
It's  terrible  dangerous  havin'  a  maniac  at  large.  Sammy 
Drewitt  made  a  won'erful  great  noise,  howlin'  when 
the  moon  was  nigh  full,  and  folk  as  lived  near  couldn't 
sleep  then.  But  he  never  knocked  nobody  on  the 
head,  as  I've  heard  tell.  I  don't  mind  givin'you  a  cup 
o'  tea,  and  some  bread  and  butter,  if  you'll  be  quiet, 
and  not  break  out  and  be  uproarious.  If  you  don't 
fancy  the  lock-up,  there  is  a  pound  for  strayed  cattle. 
I  reckon  of  that  Mister  Colpus  keeps  the  key — that  is 
if  it  be  locked,  but  mostly  it  be  open.  But  then  there's 
no  roof  to  that." 

Mehetabel  declined  the  refreshment  offered  her  so 
ungraciously,  and  went  to  the  cottage  of  Mrs.  Caesar, 
the  mother  of  JuHa  who  had  been  dismissed  from  the 
service  of  Mr.  Colpus. 

Of  her  she  made  the  same  request  as  of  the  two  last. 

"  I  call  that  pretty  much  like  cheek,  I  do,"  replied 
Mrs.  Caesar.  "  Didn't  you  go  and  try  to  get  into 
Colpus's,  and  oust  my  daughter?  " 

"  Indeed,  indeed,  I  did  not." 

"  Indeed,  you  did.  I  heard  all  about  it,  as  how  you 
wanted  to  be  took  in  at  Colpus's  when  Julia  was  out." 

*'  But  Mrs.  Caesar,  that  isn't  ousting  her.  Julia  was 
already  dismissed  !  " 

"  Dismissed  !  Hoity-toity  !  My  daughter  gave  notice 
because  she  was  too  put  upon  by  them  Colpuses.  They 
didn't  consider  their  servants,  and  give  'em  enough  to 
eat,  and  holidays  when  they  wanted  to  go  out  with 


326  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

their  sweethearts.  And  you  had  the  face  to  ax  to  be 
taken  there.  No,  I've  no  room  for  you ;  "  and  she 
shut  the  door  of  the  house  in  Mehetabel's  face. 

The  unhappy  girl  staggered  away  with  her  burden, 
and  sank  into  a  hedge.  The  evening  was  drawing  on, 
and  she  must  find  a  house  to  shelter  her,  or  else  seek 
out  the  cave  where  she  had  lodged  before. 

Then  she  recalled  what  Joe  Filmer  had  said — that 
Iver  had  returned  to  the  Ship.  A  light  flashed  through 
her  soul  at  the  thought. 

Iver  would  care  for  her.  He  who  had  been  her 
earliest  and  dearest  friend  ;  he,  who  through  all  his 
years  of  absence,  had  cherished  the  thought  of  her  ;  he 
who  had  told  her  that  the  Ship  was  no  home  to  him 
without  her  in  it ;  that  he  valued  Thursley  only  be- 
cause she  lived  there;  he  who  had  clasped 'her  with 
his  arm,  called  her  his  own  and  only  one  ;  to  him — to 
him — at  last,  without  guilt,  without  scruples  ;  she  could 
fly  to  him  and  say,  "  Iver,  I  am  driven  from  door  to 
door  ;  no  one  will  receive  me.  Every  one  is  suspicious 
of  me,  thinks  evil  of  me.  But  you — yourself,  who  have 
known  me  from  infancy — you  who  baptized  me  to  save 
me  from  becoming  a  wanderer — see,  a  wanderer,  home- 
less, with  my  poor  babe,  I  come  to  you — do  you  provide 
that  I  may  be  housed  and  sheltered.  I  ask  not  for  my- 
self so  much  as  for  my  little  one !  To  Iver — to  Iver — 
as  my  one  refuge,  my  only  hope  !  " 

Then  it  was  as  though  her  heart  were  light,  and  her 
heels  winged.  She  sprang  up  from  where  she  had  cast 
herself,  and  forgetful  of  her  weariness,  ran,  and  stayed 
not  till  she  had  reached  the  familiar  porch  of  the  dear 
old  Ship. 

And  already  through  the  bar  window  a  light  shone. 
The  night  had  not  set  in,  yet  a  light  was  shining  forth, 
a  ray  of  gold,  to  welcome  the  wanderer,  to  draw  her  in, 
with  promise  of  comfort  and  of  rest. 

And  there — there  in  the  porch  door  stood  Iver. 

"What!  Mehetabel !  come  here — here — after  all! 
Come  in  at  once.  Welcome  !  A  word  together  we  must 
have  !     My  little  Mehetabel!   Welcome  !   Welcome  !  " 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  327 


CHAPTER  L. 

MOVE  ON. 

"  Come  in,  little  friend !  dear  Matabel !  comje  into 
the  kitchen,  by  the  fire,  and  let  us  have  a  talk."  His 
voice  was  cheery,  his  greeting  hearty,  his  manner  frank. 

He  drew  her  along  the  passage,  and  brought  her  into 
the  little  kitchen  in  which  that  declaration  had  taken 
place,  the  very  last  time  she  had  been  within  the  doors 
of  the  inn,  and  he  seated  her  in  the  settle,  the  very 
place  she  had  occupied  when  he  poured  out  his  heart 
to  her. 

Mehetabel  could  not  speak.  Her  bosom  was  too  full. 
Tears  sparkled  in  her  eyes,  and  ran  down  her  cheeks. 
The  glow  of  the  peat  and  wood  fire  was  on  her  face, 
and  gave  to  it  a  color  it  did  not  in  reality  possess.  She 
tried  to  say  something,  but  her  voice  gave  way.  Half 
laughing  in  the  midst  of  tears  she  stammered,  "  You 
are  good  to  me,  Iver." 

He  took  the  stool  and  drew  it  before  the  fire  that 
he  might  look  up  into  her  agitated  face. 

*'  How  have  you  come?*'  asked  he. 

"I  walked." 

"  Where  from — not  Kingston  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no!  only  from  Gorlmyn." 

"  But  that  is  a  long  way.  And  did  you  carry  the 
child  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  Iver !  But,  oh  !  he  is  no  weight.  You  have 
not  seen  him.  Look  at  him.  He  is  quiet  now,  but  he 
has  been  very  troublesome  ;  not  that  he  could  help  it, 
but  he  has  been  unwell."  With  the  pride  and  love  of 
a  mother  she  unfolded  the  wraps  that  concealed  her 
sleeping  child,  and  laid  it  on  her  knees.  The  dancing 
light  fell  over  it. 

Iver  drew  his  stool   near,  and  looked  at  the  infant 


328  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

"  I  am  no  judge  of  babies,"  he  said,  "but — it  is  very 
small." 

**  It  is  small,  that  is  why  I  can  carry  him.  The  best 
goods  are  wrapped  in  the  smallest  parcels." 

''  The  child  looks  very  delicate — ill,  I  should  say." 
'*  Oh,  no !  it  has  been  ill,  but  is  much,  much  better 
now.  How  could  even  a  strong  child  stand  all  that 
my  precious  one  has  had  to  go  through  without  suffer- 
ing? But  that  is  over  now.  Now  at  length  we  shall 
have  rest  and  happiness,  baby  and  me,  in  each  other." 
Then  catching  the  child  to  her  heart,  she  rocked  her- 
self, and  with  tears  of  love  flowing,  sang — 

**  Thou  art  my  sceptre,  crown  and  all" 

She  laid  the  child  again  on  her  lap  and  sat  looking 
at  it  admiringly  in  the  rosy  light  of  the  fire  that 
suffused  it.  As  the  flames  had  given  to  her  cheek  a 
fictitious  color,  so  did  they  now  give  to  the  infant  a 
glow  as  of  health  that  it  did  not  actually  possess. 

"  You  must  be  tired,"  said  Iver. 

**  I  am  tired  ;  see  how  my  limbs  shake.  That  is  why 
my  baby  trembles  ;  but  as  for  my  arms,  they  are  past 
tiredness,  they  are  just  one  dead  ache  from  the  shoulder 
to  the  wrist." 

"  Are  you  hungry,  Matabel  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !     All  I  want  is  rest,  rest.     I  am  weary." 

Presently  she  asked,  "  Where  is  father  ?  " 

*'  He  is  away.  Gone  to  the  Dye  House  to  see  a 
cow  that  is  bad.  They  sent  for  him,  to  have  his 
opinion.     Father  is  thought  a  great  authority  on  cows." 

"  And  Polly  ?  " 

*'0h!  Polly,"  laughed  Iver,  "she's  bundled  off. 
Father  has  borne  it  like  a  philosopher.  I  believe  in 
his  heart  he  is  rather  pleased  that  I  should  have 
turned  her  neck  and  crop  off  the  premises.  It  was 
high  time.  She  had  mastered  the  old  man,  and  could 
make  him  do  what  she  pleased." 

"  Whom  have  you  got  in  her  place  ?" 

"  Julia  Caesar.  She  was  sent  away  from  the  Colpuses 
for  drawing  the  beer  too  freely.     Well,  here  she  can 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  329 

draw  it  whenever  there  are  men  who  ask  for  drink,  so 
she  will  be  in  her  proper  element.  But  she  is  only  a 
stop  gap.  I  engaged  her  because  there  really  was  for 
the  moment  no  one  else  available,  but  she  goes  as  soon 
as  we  can  find  a  better." 

"  Will  you  take  me  ?  **  asked  Mehetabel,  with  a  smile, 
and  with  some  confidence  that  she  would  be  gladly 
accepted. 

"  We  shall  see — there  is  another  place  for  you, 
Matabel,"  said  Iver.  "  Now  let  us  talk  of  something 
else.  Was  it  not  a  piece  of  rare  good  luck  that  I  was 
stuck  on  the  jury  ?  Do  you  know,  I  believe  all  would 
have  gone  wrong  but  for  me.  I  put  my  foot  down 
and  said,  '  Not  guilty,*  and  would  not  budge.  The 
rest  were  almost  all  inclined  to  give  ag:ainst  you,  Mata- 
bel,  but  there  was  a  fellow  with  a  twist  in  his  stupid 
noddle  against  capital  punishment.  He  was  just  as 
resolute  as  I  was,  and  between  us,  we  worked  the  rest 
round  to  our  way  of  thinking.  But  I  should  like  to 
know  the  truth  about  it  all,  for  it  is  marvellous  to  me." 

"  There  is  nothing  for  me  to  say,  Iver,"  answered 
Matabel,  "  but  that  some  words  I  uttered  made  Jonas 
spring  back,  and  neither  he  nor  I  knew  that  there  was 
a  kiln  behind,  it  was  so  overgrown  with  brambles,  and 
he  fell  down  that." 

"  And  you  laughed." 

"  Oh,  Iver !  I  don't  know  what  I  did.  I  was  so 
frightened,  and  my  head  was  so  much  in  a  whirl  that  I 
remember  nothing  more.  You  do  not  really  think  that 
I  laughed." 

"  They  all  said  you  did." 

"  Iver,  you  know  me  too  well  to  believe  that  I  was 
other  than  frightened  out  of  my  wits.  There  are  times 
when  a  laugh  comes  because  the  tears  will  not  break 
out — it  is  a  gasp  of  pain,  of  horror,  nothing  more.  I 
remember,  at  my  confirmation,  when  the  Bishop  laid 
his  hands  on  us,  that  the  girl  beside  me  laughed ;  but 
it  was  only  that  she  was  feeling  more  than  she  could 
give  token  of  any  other  way." 

"  That's  like  enough,"  said  Iver,  and  taking  the  poker 


330  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

he  put  the  turf  together  to  make  it  blaze  ;  "  I  say, 
Matabel,  they  tell  me  that  Jonas  was  a  bad  loser  by 
the  smash  of  the  Wealden  Bank,  and  that  he  was  about 
to  mortgage  his  little  place.  Of  course,  that  is  yours 
now — or  belongs  to  the  young  shaver.  There  are  a 
hundred  pounds  my  mother  left,  and  fifty  given  by  my 
father,  that  I  hold,  and  I  don't  mind  doing  anything 
in  reason  with  it  to  prevent  having  the  property  get 
into  the  lawyer's  hands.  I  wouldn't  do  it  for  Jonas; 
but  I  will  for  you  or  the  shaver.  Shall  you  manage 
the  farm  yourself?  If  I  were  you  I  would  get  Joe 
Filmer  to  do  that.  He's  a  good  chap,  honest  as  day- 
light, and  worships  you." 

'*  I  don't  know  or  think  anything  about  that,"  said 
Mehetabel. 

"  But  you  must  do  so.  The  Rocliffes  have  invaded 
the  place,  so  my  father  says.  They  took  possession 
directly  Jonas  was  dead,  and  they  are  treating  th^ 
farm  as  if  it  were  their  own.  You  are  going  to  the? 
Punch-Bowl  at  once,  and  I  will  assert  your  rights." 

''  I  am  not  going  to  the  Punch-Bowl  again,"  said 
Mehetabel,  decisively. 

"  You  must.     You  have  no  other  home." 

**That  can  be  no  home  to   me." 

"  But — where  are  you  going  to  live  ?  " 

"  I  ask — "  she  looked  at  Iver  with  something  of  en- 
treaty in  her  eyes — "  May  I  not  come  and  be  servant, 
here  ?    I  will  do  my  duty,  you  need  not  doubt  that." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  about  that,"  he  answered.  "  But 
— but — "  he  hesitated,  and  probed  the  fire  again, 
"you  see,  Matabel,  it  wouldn't  do." 

''  Why  not  ?  " 

''  Oh,  there  are  three  or  four  reasons." 

She  looked  steadily  at  him,  awaiting  more. 

'*  In  the  first  place,"  he  said,  with  a  little  confusion, 
"  there  has  been  much  chatter  about  me  being  on  the 
jury,  and  some  folk  say  that  but  for  me  you'd    have 

been  found   guilty,  and "     He   did    not  complete 

the  sentence.  He  had  knocked  a  burning  turf  down 
on  the  hearth.     He  took  the  tongs,  picked  it  up  and 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  331 

replaced  it.  "  I  won't  say  there  is  not  some  truth  in 
that.  But  that  is  not  all,  Matabel.  I'm  going  to  give 
up  Guildford  and  live  he're." 

**  You  are  !  "     Her  eyes  brightened. 

'*  Yes,  at  the  Ship.  For  one  thing,  I  am  sick  of 
giving  lessons  to  noodles.  More  than  half  of  those 
who  take  lessons  are  as  incapable  of  making  any  prog- 
ress as  a  common  duck  is  of  soaring  to  the  clouds.  It's 
drudgery  giving  lessons  to  such  persons.  The  only 
pictures  they  turn  out  that  are  fit  to  be  looked  at  are 
such  as  the  master  has  drawn  and  corrected  and  finished 
off  for  them.     I'll   have  no  more  of  that." 

''  I  am  glad,  Iver.  Then  you  will  be  with  the  dear 
old  father." 

"  Yes.  He  wants  some  one  here  to  keep  an  eye  on 
him.  But,  just  because  I  shall  be  here,  it  is  not  pos- 
sible for  you  to  be  in  the  house.  There  has  been  too 
much  talk,  you  know,  about  us.  And  this  matter  of 
my  being  on  the  jury  has  made  the  talk  more  loud  and 
unpleasant  for  me.  I  shall  have  to  be  on  my  P's  and 
Q's,  Mattie  ;  and  I  doubt  if  I  am  acting  judiciously  for 
myself  in  bringing  you  into  the  house  now.  How- 
ever, it  is  only  for  an  hour,  and  the  maid  Julia  is  out, 
and  father  is  at  the  Dye  House,  and  no  one  was  in  the 
road ;  so  I  thought  I  might  risk  it.  But,  of  course, 
you  can't  remain.     You  must  go." 

"  I  must  go  !     What,  now  ?  " 

"  I  won't  hurry  you  for  another  ten  minutes,  but 
under  the  circumstances  I  cannot  allow  you  to  remain. 
There  is  more  behind,  Matabel.  I  have  got  engaged 
to  Polly  Colpus!  " 

"  Engaged — to  Polly  Colpus  ?  " 

"  Yes.  You  see  she  is  the  only  child  of  James  Col- 
pus, and  will  have  his  land,  which  adjoins  ours,  and 
several  thousand  pounds  as  well.  Her  mother  left  her 
something,  and  her  father  has  been  a  saving  man ;  so 
I  could  not  do  better  for  myself.  I  have  got  tired  of 
teaching  imbeciles  to  draw  and  daub.  You  see,  I  knew 
nothing  about  a  farm,  but  father  will  manage  that,  and 
when  he  is  too  infirm  and  old,  then  Mr.  Colpus  will 


332  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

work  it  along  with  his  own,  and  save  me  the  trouble. 
Polly  is  clever  and  manages  very  well,  and  I  can  trust 
her  to  govern  the  Ship  and  make  money  out  of  that. 
So  my  idea  is  to  be  here  when  I  like,  and  when  tired 
of  being  in  the  country,  to  go  to  London  and  sell  my 
pictures,  or  amuse  myself.  With  the  farm  and  the 
inn  I  shall  be  free  to  do  that  without  the  worry  of 
giving  lessons.  So  you  understand  that  not  only  must 
I  avoid  any  scandal  among  the  neighbors  by  harboring 
you  here,  but  I  must  not  make  Polly  Colpus  jealous  ; 
and  she  might  become  that,  and  break  off  the  engage- 
ment were  you  taken  into  the  house.  She  is  a  good 
girl,  and  amiable,  but  might  become  suspicious.  There 
are  so  many  busybodies  in  a  little  place,  and  the 
smaller  the  place  is  the  more  meddlesome  people  are. 
It  would  not  do  for  my  engagement  to  be  broken 
through  any  such  an  injudicious  act  on  my  part,  and  I 
should  never  forgive  myself  for  having  given  occasion 
for  the  rupture.  Consequently,  as  is  plain  as  a  pike- 
staff, we  cannot  possibly  take  you  into  the  Ship.  Not 
even  for  to-night.  As  for  receiving  you  as  a  servant 
here,  that  is  out  of  the  question.  There  is  really  no 
place  for  you  but  the  Punch-Bowl." 

"  I  will  not  go  back  to  the  Punch-Bowl,"  said  Mehet- 
abel,  her  heart  sinking. 

"  That  is  unreasonable.     It  is  your  natural  home." 

"  I  will  not  go  back.  I  said  so  when  I  ran  away. 
Nothing  will  induce  me  to  return." 

"  Then  I  wash  my  hands  of  all  concerning  you,"  said 
Iver,  irritably.  "There  really  seems  to  be  ill-luck 
attending  you,  and  affecting  all  with  whom  you  are 
brought  in  touch.  Your  husband — he  is  dead,  and 
now  you  try  to  jeopardize  my  fortunes.  'Pon  my 
word,  Matabel,"  he  stood  up.  "  It  cannot  be.  We  are 
willing  enough  to  take  in  most  people  here,  but  under 
the  circumstances  cannot  receive  you." 

"  The  door,"  said  the  girl,  also  rising,  **  the  door  was 
open  at  one  time  to  all  but  to  you.  Now  it  is  open  to 
all  but  to  me." 

'*  You  must  be  reasonable,   Matabel.     I   wish  you 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  333 

every  good  in  the  world.  You  can't  do  better  than 
take  Joe  Filmer,  and  make  yourself  happy.  Every 
one  in  this  world  must  loolc  first  to  himself;  then  to 
the  things  of  others.  It  is  a  law  of  Nature,  and  we 
can't  alter  it." 

Leisurely,  with  sunk  head  on  her  bosom,  Mehetabel 
moved  to  the  door. 

''  If  I  can  assist  you  with  money,"  suggested  Iver. 

She  shook  her  head,  she  could  not  speak. 

**  Or  if  you  want  any  food " 

She  shook  her  head  again. 

But  at  the  door  she  stood,  leaned  against  the  jamb, 
turned,  and  looked  steadily  at  Iver. 

"  You  are  going  to  the  Punch-Bowl  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  I  will  not  go  there ! " 

"  Then,  where  do  you  go  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  Iver — you  baptized  me  lest  I  should 
become  a  wanderer,  and  now  you  cast  me  out,  me  and 
my  baby  to  become  wanderers  indeed." 

"  I  cannot  help  myself,  dear  Matabel.  It  is  a  law  of 
Nature,  like  that  of  the  Medes  and  Persians,  un- 
alterable." 


334  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER  LI. 
THOR'S  STONE  AGAIN. 

Stunned  with  the  sense  that  her  last  hope  was  taken 
from  her,  the  cable  of  her  one  anchor  cut,  Mehetabel 
left  the  Ship  Inn,  and  turned  from  the  village.  It 
would  be  in  vain  for  her  to  seek  hospitaUty  there. 
Nothing  was  open  to  her  save  the  village  pound  and 
the  cell  in  which  the  crazy  man,  Sammy  Drewitt,  had 
perished  of  cold.  There  was  the  cave  in  which  she  had 
found  refuge  the  night  before  the  death  of  Jonas.  She 
took  her  way  to  that  again,  over  the  heath. 

There  was  light  in  the  sky,  and  a  star  was  shining  in 
the  west,  above  where  the  sun  had  set. 

How  still  her  baby  was  in  her  arms !  Mehetabel  un- 
folded the  shawl,  and  looked  at  the  pinched  white  face 
in  the  silvery  light  from  the  sky.  The  infant  seemed 
hardly  to  breathe.  She  leaned  her  cheek  against  the 
tiny  mouth,  and  the  warm  breath  played  over  it.  Then 
the  child  uttered  a  sob,  drew  a  long  inspiration,  and 
continued  its  sleep.  The  fresh  air  on  the  face  had  in- 
duced that  deep,  convulsive  inhalation. 

Mehetabel  again  covered  the  child's  face,  and  walked 
on  to  the  gully  made  by  the  ancient  iron-workers,  and 
descended  into  it. 

But  great  was  her  disappointment  to  find  that  the 
place  of  refuge  was  destroyed.  Attention  had  been 
drawn  to  it  by  the  evidence  of  Giles  Cheel  and  Sally 
Rocliffe.  The  village  youths  had  visited  it,  and  had 
amused  themselves  with  dislodging  the  great  capstone, 
and  breaking  down  the  sandstone  walls.  No  shelter  was 
now  obtainable  there  for  the  homeless :  it  would  no 
more  become  a  playing  place  for  the  little  children  of 
the  Dame's  school. 

She  stood  looking  dreamily  at  the  ruin.     Even  that 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  335 

last  place  of  refuge  was  denied  her,  had  been  taken 
from  her  in  wantonness. 

Leisurely  she  retraced  her  steps ;  she  saw  again  the 
light  in  the  window  of  the  Ship,  and  the  open  door. 
She,  however,  turned  away — the  welcome  was  not  for 
her — and  entered  the  village.  Few  were  about,  and 
such  as  saw  her  allowed  her  to  pass  without  a  salutation. 

She  staggered  up  some  broken  steps  into  the  church- 
yard, and  crossed  it,  towards  the  church.  No  friendly 
light  twinkled  through  the  window,  giving  evidence  of 
life,  occupation,  within.  The  door  was  shut  and  locked. 
She  seated  herself  wearily  in  the  porch.  The  great 
building  was  like  an  empty  husk,  from  which  the  spirit 
was  passed,  and  it  was  kept  fast  barred  lest  its  empti- 
ness should  be  revealed  to  all.  The  stones  under  her 
feet  struck  a  chill  through  her,  the  wall  against  which 
she  leaned  her  back  froze  her  marrow,  the  bench  on 
which  she  sat  was  cold  as  well.  Why  had  she  come  to 
the  porch  ?  She  hardly  knew.  The  period  at  which 
Mehetabel  lived  was  not  one  in  which  the  Church  was 
loved  as  a  mother,  nestled  into  for  rest  and  consolation. 
She  performed  her  duties  in  a  cold,  perfunctory  manner, 
and  the  late  Vicar  had,  though  an  earnest  man,  taught 
nothing  save  what  concerned  the  geography  of  Pales- 
tine, and  the  weights  and  measures  of  Scripture — 
enough  to  interest  the  mind,  nothing  to  engage  the 
heart,  to  fill  and  stablish  the  soul. 

And  now,  as  Mehetabel  sat  in  the  cold  porch  by  the 
barred  door,  looking  out  into  the  evening  sky,  she  ex- 
tended, opened,  and  closed  her  right  hand,  as  though 
trying  to  grasp,  to  cling  to  something,  in  her  desolation 
and  friendlessness,  and  could  find  nothing.  Again  a 
horror  came  over  her,  because  her  child  lay  so  still. 
Again  she  looked  at  it,  and  assured  herself  that  it  lived. 
— but  the  life  seemed  to  be  one  of  sleep,  a  prelude  to 
the  long  last  sleep. 

She  wiped  her  brow.  Cold  drops  stood  on  it,  as  she 
struggled  with  this  thought.  Why  was  the  child  so 
quiet  now,  after  having  been  so  restless  ?  Was  it  that 
it  was  really  better  ?     Was  this  sleep  the  rest  of  ex- 


Ss6  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

hausted  nature,  recovering  itself,  or  was  it — was  it — 
she  dared  not  formulate  the  thought,  complete  the 
question. 

Again,  in  the  anguish  of  her  mind,  in  her  craving  for 
help  in  this  hour  of  despondency,  she  put  forth  her 
hand  in  the  air  gropingly,  and  clutched  nothing.  She 
fully  opened  her  palm,  extended  it  level  before  her, 
and  then,  wearily  let  it  fall. 

From  where  she  sat  she  could  not  see  even  the  star 
that  had  glimmered  on  her  as  she  crossed  the  common. 

She  heard  the  crackling  of  the  gravel  of  the  path 
under  a  foot,  and  a  figure  passed  the  porch  door,  then 
came  back,  and  stood  looking  at  her. 

She  recognized  the  sexton. 

**  Who  are  you  there  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  answered  him. 

"  Do  you  want  to  see  where  Jonas  is  laid  ?  Come 
along  with  me,  and  I'll  show  you." 

She  shrank  back. 

"  He's  where  the  Kinks  all  are.  You  must  look  and 
see  that  it  is  all  right.  I  haven't  been  paid  my  fee. 
Them  Rocliffes  buttoned  up  their  pockets.  They  sed 
it  was  for  you  to  pay.  But  I  hear  they  have  put  their 
hands  on  the  property.  They  thought  you  would  be 
hanged,  but  as  you  ain't  they'll  have  to  turn  out,  and 
you'll  have  to  pay  me  for  buryin*  of  Jonas,  I  reckon." 

The  old  fellow  was  much  bowed,  and  hard  of  hearing. 
He  came  into  the  porch,  laid  hold  of  Mehetabel,  and 
said,  "  I'm  goin'  to  lock  the  gate.  You  must  turn  out ; 
I  can't  let  you  bide  in  the  churchyard  till  you  come  to 
bide  there  forever.     Be  that  your  baby  in  your  arms  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Linegar,  it  is." 

*'  It  don't  make  much  noise.  Ain't  a  very  lively 
young  Radical." 

"Would  you  like  to  see  my  baby?"  asked  Meheta- 
bel, timidly,  and  she  uncovered  the  sleeping  child. 

The  sexton  bowed  over  the  little  face,  and  straighten- 
ing himself  as  much  as  he  could,  said,  "  It  seems  not 
unlike  as  that  the  child  be  comin'  to  me." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "     Her  heart  stood  stiU. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  337 

"  If  you  hadn't  showed  it  me  as  alive,  I'd  ha*  sed  it 
were  dead,  or  dyin'.  Well,  come  and  tell  me  where  it's 
to  be  laid.     Shall  it  go  beside  Jonas  ?  " 

"  Mister  Linegar !  "  Mehetabel  stood  still  trembling. 
"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  My  babe  is  well.  He  is 
sleeping  very  sound." 

'*  He  looks  won'erful  white." 

"  That's  because  of  the  twilight.  You  fancy  he  is 
white.  He  has  the  most  beautiful  little  color  in  his 
lips  and  cheeks,  just  like  the  crimson  on  a  daisy." 

*'  Well,  come  along,  and  choose  a  place.  It'll  save 
comin'  again.  I'll  let  you  see  where  Jonas  lies.  And 
if  you  want  to  put  up  a  monument,  that's  half  a-guinea 
to  the  passon  and  half-a-crown  to  me.  There,  do  you 
see  that  new  grave  ?  I've  bound  it  down  wi'  withies, 
and  laid  the  turf  nice  over  it.  It's  fine  in  the  sun,  and 
a  healthy  situation,"  continued  the  sexton,  pointing  to 
a  new  grave.  "  This  bit  of  ground  is  pretty  nigh  taken 
up  wi'  the  folks  of  the  Punch-Bowl,  the  Boxalls,  and 
the  Nashes,  and  the  Snellings,  and  the  Kinks,  and  the 
Rocliffes.  We  let  'em  lie  to  themselves  when  dead,  as 
they  kep'  to  theirselves  when  livin'.  Where  would  you 
like  to  lie,  you  and  the  baby — you  may  just  as  well 
choose  now — it  may  save  trouble.  I'm  gettin'  old,  and 
I  don't  go  about  more  than  I  can  help." 

"  If  anything  were  to  happen,  Mr.  Linegar,  then  let 
us  be  laid — me  and  my  darling — on  the  other  side  of 
the  church,  where  my  father's  grave  is." 

"  That's  the  north  side — never  gets  no  sun.  I  don't 
reckon  it  over  healthy." 

"  I  would  rather  lie  there.  If  it  gets  no  sun  on  that 
side,  my  poor  babe  and  I  have  been  in  shade  all  our 
lives,  and  so  it  fits  us  best  to  be  on  the  north  side." 

"  Well,  there's  no  accountin'  for  tastes,"  said  the 
sexton.  "  But  I've  hear  you  be  a  little  troubled  in  the 
intellecks." 

"  Is  it  strange,"  answered  Mehetabel,  "  that  one 
should  wish  to  be  laid  beside  a  father — my  poor  father, 
who  is  alone  ?  " 

"  Come,  come,"  said  the  old  man,  "  it  is  time  for  n>.e 
22 


338  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

to  lock  up  the  churchyard  gate.  I  only  left  it  open 
because  I  had  been  doing  up  Jonas  Kink's  grave  with 
withies." 

He  made  Mehetabel  precede  him  down  the  path, 
saw  her  through  the  gate,  and  then  fastened  that  with 
a  padlock. 

"  Even  the  dead  have  a  home — a  place  of  rest,"  she 
said.     "  I  have  none.     I  am  driven  from  theirs." 

It  was  not  true  that  she  had  no  home,  for  she  had 
one,  and  could  claim  it  by  indefeasible  right,  the  farm- 
house of  the  Kinks  in  the  Punch-Bowl.  But  her  heart 
revolted  against  a  return  to  the  scene  of  the  greatest 
sorrows.  Moreover,  if,  as  it  was  told  her,  the  Rocliffes 
had  taken  possession,  then  she  could  not  enter  it  with- 
out a  contest,  and  she  would  have  perhaps  to  forcibly 
expel  them.  But  even  if  force  were  not  required,  she 
was  quite  aware  that  Sally  Rocliffe  would  make  her 
position  intolerable.  She  had  the  means,  she  could 
enlist  the  other  members  of  the  squatter  community  on 
her  side,  and  how  could  she — Mehetabel — maintain  her- 
self against  such  a  combination  ?  To  return  to  the 
Punch-Bowl  would  be  to  enter  on  ignoble  broils,  and 
to  run  the  gauntlet  of  a  whole  clique  united  to  sting, 
wound,  bruise  her  to  death.  How  could  she  carry  on 
the  necessary  business  of  the  farm  when  obstructed  in 
every  way  ?  How  manage  her  domestic  affairs,  with- 
out some  little  assistance  from  outside,  which  would  be 
refused  her  ? 

She  entertained  no  resentment  against  Iver  Verstage 
for  having  excluded  her  from  the  inn,  but  a  sense  of 
humiliation  at  having  ventured  to  seek  his  help  unso- 
licited. Surely  she  had  an  excuse.  He  had  always 
been  to  her  the  one  to  whom  her  thoughts  turned  in 
confidence  and  in  hope.  It  was  in  him  and  through 
him  that  all  happiness  was  to  be  found.  He  had  pro- 
fessed the  sincerest  attachment  to  her.  He  had  sought 
her  out  at  the  Punch-Bowl,  when  she  shrank  from  him  ; 
and  had  she  not  been  sacrificed — her  whole  life  blighted 
for  his  sake?  Surely,  if  he  thought  anything  of  her, 
jf  he  had  any  spark  of  affection  lingering  in  his  heart 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  339 

for  her,  any  care  for  her  future,  he  would  never  leave 
her  thus  desolate,  friendle;3S,  houseless ! 

She  wandered  from  the  churchyard  gate,  aimless,  and 
before  she  was  aware  whither  she  was  going,  found 
herself  in  the  confines  of  Pudmoor.  How  life  turns  in 
circles !  Before,  when  she  had  run  from  the  Ship,  self- 
excluded,  she  had  hasted  to  Pudmoor.  Now,  again, 
excluded,  but  by  Iver,  she  turned  instinctively  to  Pud- 
moor. Once  before  she  had  run  to  Thor's  Stone,  and 
now,  when  she  found  help  nowhere  else,  she  again  took 
the  same  direction.  She  had  asked  assistance  once 
before  at  the  anvil,  she  would  ask  it  there  again.  Before 
she  had  asked  to  be  freed  from  Iver.  She  had  no  need 
to  ask  that  now,  he  had  freed  himself  from  her.  She 
would  seek  of  the  spirits,  what  was  denied  her  by  her 
fellow-men,  a  home  where  she  might  rest  along  with  her 
baby. 

The  first  time  she  had  sought  Thor's  Stone  she  had 
been  alone,  with  herself  only  to  care  for,  though  indeed 
for  herself  she  had  cared  nothing.  Now,  on  this  second 
occasion,  she  was  burdened  with  the  child  infinitely 
precious  to  her  heart,  and  for  the  sake  of  which  even  a 
stumble  must  be  avoided.  The  first  time  she  had  been 
fresh,  in  the  full  vigor  of  her  strength.  Now  she  was 
worn  out  with  a  long  tramp,  and  all  the  elasticity  gone 
out  of  her,  all  the  strength  of  soul  and  body  broken. 

Slowly,  painfully  she  crept  along,  making  sure  of  every 
step.  The  full  moon  did  not  now  turn  the  waters  into 
gold,  but  the  illumined  twilight  sky  was  mirrored  be- 
low— as  steel. 

She  feared  lest  her  knees  should  fail,  and  she  should 
fall.  She  dared  not  seat  herself  on  a  ridge  of  sand  lest 
she  should  lack  power  to  rise  again.  When  she  came 
to  a  crabbed  fir  she  leaned  against  it  and  stooped  to 
kiss  her  babe. 

"  Oh,  my  golden  darling  !  My  honeycomb  !  How 
cold  you  are  !  Cling  closer  to  your  mother's  breast. 
She  would  gladly  pour  all  the  warmth  out  of  her  heart 
into  your  little  veins." 

Then  on  again,  amidst  the  trilling  of  the  natterjacks 


340  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

and  the  croaking  of  the  frogs.  Because  of  their  noise 
she  could  not  hear  the  faint  breath  of  her  infant. 
Although  she  walked  slowly,  she  panted,  and  through 
panting  could  not  distinguish  the  pulsation  of  the  little 
one  she  bore  from  the  bounding  of  her  own  veins.  At 
last  she  saw,  gleaming  before  her — Thor's  Stone,  and 
she  hasted  her  steps  to  reach  it. 

Then  she  remembered  that  she  was  without  a  ham- 
mer. That  mattered  not.  She  would  strike  on  the 
anvil  with  her  fingers.  The  spirits — whatever  they 
were — the  good  people — the  country  folk  called  them, 
would  hear  that.  She  reached  the  stone,  and  sank 
exhausted  below  it  She  was  too  weary  to  do  more 
than  lie,  with  her  child  in  her  lap,  and  hold  up  her  face 
bathed  in  sweat,  for  the  cool  evening  wind  to  wipe  it, 
and  at  the  same  time  feed  with  fresh  breath  her  ex- 
hausted lungs. 

Then  looking  up,  she  saw  the  little  star  again,  the 
only  one  in  the  light-suffused  heavens,  but  it  twinkled 
faintly,  with  a  feeble  glitter,  feeble  as  the  frail  life  of 
the  child  on  her  lap. 

And  now  a  strange  thing  occurred. 

As  she  looked  aloft  suddenly  the  vault  was  pervaded 
with  a  rosy  illumination,  like  the  flushing  of  a  coming 
dawn,  and  through  this  haze  of  rosy  light,  infinitely 
remote,  still  flickered  the  tiny  spark  of  the  star. 

What  was  this  ?  Merely  some  highly  uplifted  vapor 
that  caught  the  sun  after  it  had  long  ceased  to  shine 
on  the  landscape. 

There  were  even  threads  of  amber  traced  in  this  re- 
mote and  attenuated  glory — and,  lo — in  that  wondrous 
halo,  the  little  star  was  eclipsed. 

Suddenly — with  an  unaccountable  thrill  of  fear, 
Mehetabel  bent  over  her  babe — and  uttered  a  cry  that 
rang  over  the  Mere. 

The  hand  she  had  laid  on  Thor's  Stone  to  tap  struck 
it  not.  She  had  nothing  to  ask  ;  no  wish  to  express. 
The  one  object  for  which  she  lived  was  gone  from  hen 

The  babe  was  dead  in  her  lap. 

Her  hand  fell  from  the  stone. 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  341 


CHAPTER  LII. 
THE  ROSE-CLOUD. 

Joe  Filmer,  driving  old  Clutch,  drew  up  at  the 
door  of  the  Ship  Inn.  Iver  Verstage  came  out  and 
welcomed  him. 

"  I've  had  a  trouble  with  Clutch,"  said  the  ostler. 
*'  He  lay  down  as  we  got  out  of  Gorlmyn,  and  neither 
whip  nor  kicks  'ud  make  him  stir.  I  tried  ticklin*,  but 
t'wern't  no  good  neither.  How  long  this  'ud  have 
gone  on  I  dun  know  ;  I  took  him  out  o'  th'  shafts,  and 
got  him  back  to  Gorlmyn,  because  some  men  helped 
me  wi*  him,  and  pulled  at  his  tail,  and  twisted  his  car- 
cass about  till  his  nose  pointed  to  the  stable  of  the 
Angel.  Then  he  condescended  to  get  up  and  go  to 
the  inn.  I  shouldn't  ha'  got  him  away  at  all  but  that 
a  notion  came  into  my  head  as  helped.  I  got  the 
ostler  to  saddle  and  bride  the  gray  mare,  and  mount 
her  afore  old  Clutch's  naked  eyes.  And  I  told  the 
ostler  to  ride  ahead  a  little  way.  Then,  my  word ! 
what  airs  and  jinks  there  were  in  Clutch  ;  he  gambolled 
and  trotted  like  a  colt.  It  was  all  a  show-off  afore  the 
gray  mare.  The  ostler — I  knew  him  very  well,  he's 
called  Tom  Tansom,  and  it's  a  coorious  thing  now, 
he  only  cut  his  wise  teeth  about  three  months  afore, 
and  suffered  won'erful  in  cutting  'em.  But  that's 
neither  here  nor  there.  Tom  Tansom,  he  rode  ahead, 
and  old  Clutch  went  after  as  if  he  were  runnin'  with 
the  hounds.  But  I  must  tell  you,  whilst  I  was  in  Gorl- 
myn, that  Widow  Chivers  came  with  the  carrier,  and 
as  she  was  wantin'  a  lift,  I  just  took  her  up  and  brought 
her  on.  She's  been  ter'ible  bad,  she  tells  me,  with  a 
cold,  but  she's  better  now — got  some  new  kind  o'  lozen- 
ges, very  greatly  recommended.     There's  a  paper  given 


342  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

along  wi*  'em  with  printed  letters  from  all  sorts  o*  peo- 
ple as  has  benefited  by  these  lozenges.  They're  a 
shillin'  and  a  ha'penny  a  box.  Betty  sez  they've  done 
her  a  power  of  good." 

"  Go  on  with  your  account  of  old  Clutch.  You're 
almost  as  bad  as  he  with  your  stoppages." 

"  I'm  tellin'  right  along.  Well,  the  ostler  he  trotted 
on  till  he  came  to  a  turn  in  the  road,  and  then  he  went 
down  a  lane  out  o'  sight.  Bu^.  old  Clutch  have  been 
racin'  on  all  the  way,  thinkin*  the  mare  had  got  a  dis- 
tance ahead.  I'd  a  mighty  difficulty  to  make  him  stop 
at  the  corner  to  set  down  Bet*:y  Chivers,  and  again 
here.  Though  he's  roarin'  like  the  roarin'  of  the  sea, 
he  wants  to  be  on  again  and  ketch  up  the  gray  mare. 
It's  a  pleasure  that  I've  dun  the  old  r&gabond.  Ha^ 
Matabel  been  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  has  ;  and  has  gone." 

"  Where  to  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  home,  to  the  Bowl." 

"  Not  she.  She's  got  that  screwed  into  her  head 
tight  as  a  nut,  that  she'll  never  go  there  agam.  There 
was  the  sexton  at  the  corner,  and  he  helped  Be^ty  with 
her  bag,  he  said  he  turned  Matabel  out  of  the  chnrch 
porch." 

'*Then  she  may  be  in  the  churchyard." 

"  Oh,  no,  he  turned  her  out  of  the  churchyard,  and 
the  last  he  seed  of  her  was  goin'  down  to  the  Pudmoor. 
If  she's  queer  in  her  head,  or  driven  distracted  wi* 
trouble — she  oughtn't  to  be  allowed  to  go  there." 

"  Gone  to  Pudmoor !  "  exclaimed  Iver.  "  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  she  has  sought  Thor's  Stone.  She  did  that 
once  before." 

"  I'll  clap  old  Clutch  in  the  stable,  then  go  and  look 
for  her.     Will  you  come,  Mr.  Iver?" 

"  Well — yes — but  she  cannot  be  received  in  here." 

**  No,  there  is  no  need.  Betty  Chivers  will  take  her 
in  as  before.  Betty  expects  her.  I  told  her  as  we 
comed  along  that  Matabel  were  before  us,  and  we 
almost  expected  every  minute  to  take  her  up.  Though 
how  we  should  ha'  managed  three  in  the  trap  I  don't 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  343 

know,  and  Clutch  would  have  been  in  an  outrageous 
temper.  Do  you  hear  him  snortin'  there  ?  That's  be- 
cause he's  angry — the  Radical !  " 

Beside  Thor's  Stone  Iver  and  Joe  Filmer  found 
Mehetabel  rocking  her  child,  she  had  bared  her  bosom 
and  held  the  little  corpse  against  her  palpitating  heart, 
in  the  desperate  hope  of  communicating  to  it  some  of 
her  own  heat ;  and  if  love  could  have  given  life  the 
baby  would  have  revived. 

Again,  as  when  her  husband  died,  her  brain  was  for 
a  while  unhinged,  but  she  had  the  same  kind  and  suit- 
able nurse,  the  widow,  Betty  Chivers. 

And  now  this  story  is  all  but  done.  Little  more 
remains  to  be  told. 

Never  again  did  Mehetabel  return  to  the  Punch- 
Bowl — never  revisit  it.  The  little  property  was  sold, 
and  after  the  debts  of  Jonas  were  paid,  what  remained 
went  for  her  sustenance,  as  well  as  the  money  be- 
queathed by  Susanna  Verstage  and  that  laid  aside  by 
Simon. 

Years  passed.  Betty  Chivers  was  gathered  to  the 
dust  and  in  her  place  Mehetabel  kept  the  Dame's 
school.  It  was  thought  that  Joe  Filmer  had  his  eye 
on  her,  and  on  more  than  one  occasion  he  dressed  him- 
self in  his  Sunday  best  and  walked  towards  the  school, 
but  his  courage  ebbed  away  before  he  reached  it,  and 
he  never  said  that  which  he  had  resolved  to  say. 

On  the  north  side  of  the  church,  near  the  monument 
of  the  murdered  sailor,  was  a  tiny  mound,  ever  adorned 
with  flowers,  or  when  flowers  were  unattainable,  with 
sprigs  of  holly  and  butcher's  broom  set  with  scarlet 
berries.  At  the  beginning  of  the  present  century  the 
decoration  of  a  grave  was  rarely  if  ever  practised.  It 
was  looked  on  as  so  strange  in  Mehetabel,  and  it  served 
to  foster  the  notion  that  she  was  not  quite  right  in  her 
head. 

But  in  nothing  else  did  the  village  schoolmistress 
show  strangeness :    in   school  and  out   of  school  she 


344  THE  BROOM-SQUIRE. 

was  beloved  by  her  children,  and  their  love  was  re- 
turned by  her. 

We  live  in  a  new  age — one  removed  from  that  of 
Dame  schools.  A  few  years  has  transformed  the 
system  of  education  in  the  land. 

In  one  of  the  voyages  of  Lemuel  Gulliver,  he  reached 
the  island  of  Lagado,  where  the  system  of  construction 
adopted  by  the  natives  in  the  erection  of  an  edifice  was 
to  begin  at  the  top,  the  apex  of  a  spire  or  roof,  and  to 
build  downwards,  laying  the  foundations  last  of  all,  or 
leaving  them  out  altogether. 

This  is  precisely  the  system  of  primary  education 
adopted  in  our  land,  and  if  rent  and  ruin  result,  it  is 
possibly  due  to  the  method  being  an  injudicious  one. 

The  face  of  Mehetabel  acquired  a  sweetness  and 
repose  that  were  new  to  it,  and  were  superadded  to  her 
natural  beauty.  And  she  was  happy,  happy  in  the 
children  she  taught,  happy  in  the  method  she  pursued, 
and  happy  in  the  results. 

Often  did  she  recall  that  visit  to  Thor's  Stone  on  the 
night  when  her  child  died,  and  she  remembered  her 
look  up  into  the  evening  sky.  "  I  thought  all  light 
was  gone  from  me,  when  my  star,  my  little  feeble  star, 
was  eclipsed,  but  instead  there  spread  over  the  sky  a 
great  shining,  glorious  canopy  of  rosy  light,  and  it  is 
so," — she  looked  after  her  dispersing  school — "  my 
light  and  life  and  joy  are  there." 

The  Vicar  came  up. 

There  had  been  a  great  change  in  the  ecclesiastical 
arrangements  of  Thursley.  It  was  no  longer  served 
occasionally  and  fitfully  from  the  mother  church.  It 
had  a  parson  of  its  own.  Moreover  a  change  had  been 
effected  in  the  church.  It  was  no  longer  as  a  house 
left  desolate. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,  Mrs.  Kink,"  said  the  Vicar, 
**  that  I  should  much  like  to  know  your  system  of 
education.  I  hear  from  all  quarters  such  good  accounts 
of  your  children." 

"  System,  sir !  "  she  answered  blushing,  "  oh,  I  have 
none." 


THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  345 

**  None,  Mrs.  Kink  ?  ** 

*'  I  mean,"  she  answered,  **  I  teach  just  what  every 
child  ought  to  know,  as  a  matter  of  course." 

''  And  that  is  ?  " 

"  To  love  and  fear  God.*' 

"  And  next  ?  " 

With  a  timid  smile : 

'*  That  CAT  spells  cat,  and  D  O  G  spells  dog." 

"  And  next  ?  " 

**  That  two  and  two  makes  four,  and  three  times  four 
makes  twelve." 

''And  next?" 

She  raised  her  modest  dark  eyes  to  the  Vicar,  and 
answered,  smiling,  "  Mine  is  only  a  school  for  be- 
ginners. I  lay  the  foundations.  I  do  not  profess  to 
finish." 

"  You  teach  no  more  than  these  ?  " 

"  I  lay  the  foundations  on  which  all  the  rest  can  be 
raised,"  she  answered. 

"  And  you  are  happy  ?  " 

She  smiled ;  it  was  as  though  the  sun  shone  out  of 
her  face. 

"  Happy !  Oh,  so  happy  !  I  could  not  be  happier." 
Then,  after  a  pause,  "  Except  when  I  and  my  own 
little  one  are  together  again,  and  that  would  be  too 
much  happiness  for  my  heart  now.  But  it  will  be  able 
to  bear  the  joy — then." 


THE  END. 


E^  THE  MIDST  OF  ALARMS* 

By  ROBERT  BARR. 

A  delightful  story  of  the  trip  of  a  New  York  correspondent  and  a 
college  professor  into  Guiada  at  the  time  of  the  Fenian  invasion.  They 
are  captured,  and  have  numerous  amusing  adventures,  both  finally 
falling  victims  to  Cupid.         S        S        r!^        ,^        S        ^        ^ 

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book  has  met  with  great  success,  the  following  are  taken  :         «^        (^ 

"  The  author  is  a  born  story-teller^  and  his  thorough-going  Americanism 
is  engaging  to  the  last  degree.'' — Portland  Oregonian, 

"  A  rattling  comedy." — Boston  Home  Journal. 

"  We  cannot  be  too  grateful  to  Mr.  Barr,  in  these  days  of  decadence ^ 
of  word  twisting,  and  of  microscopic  raking  in  the  mind,  for  a  straight- 
forward narrative,  fresh  in  its  locality  and  incident,  quaint  in  its 
humor,  and  dealing  with  real  men  and  women,  who  express  themselves 
in  speech  and  action  with  unmistakable  individuality.'' — London 
Athen^num. 

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Post. 

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Alarms,'  by  Robert  Barr.  One  quality  gives  Mr.  Barr's  stories  a  prime 
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the  life  and  the  people  he  depicts,  as  where  the  frolicsome  reporter  helps  the 
pretty  Canadian  country  girl  make  soft  soap." — CHICAGO  Evening  Post. 

"  A  very  readable  and  clever  story ." — New  York  Sun. 

"  Everyone  must  read  'In  the  Midst  of  Alarms,'  by  Robert  Barr.  It 
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Quand  la  bise  fut  venue." 

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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


